The Dragon's Son
by Dhark
Summary: Part of a series I am working on inspired by the Dragonlance Saga. Please review.
1. Prologue and Part One

"Welcome to a world where anything can happen. Welcome to the 'imagination.'"  
-Archer Centrelli  
  
The Dragon's Son  
By Matthew Vazquez  
  
INTRODUCTION  
The Old Wars  
  
Long ago in the history of a far away world, a dark Dragon Lord named Armageddon ravaged the lands, destroying many of the dragon races and dragon kin. Together, with five other dragons, Stryker was able to defeat the Dragon Lord and trapped him inside of a dormant volcano, Dragon Mountain. The prison held him for nearly 65 million years before an unknown force released him. The descendants of the original six dragons that defeated him the first time gathered to combat Armageddon. To help in their efforts, they organized a force of knights, known as the Dragon Knights, and made ready to attack the Dragon Lord. Unknown to all of them, Armageddon was not alone. Vertigo, his mate, had been waiting for the opportune time to release the Dragon Lord, and after millions of years of waiting, was not ready to be defeated as easily as Armageddon had once been. Together, the two Dark Dragons massed up a fighting force christened the Black Knights. They also convinced many of the dragons to ally with them, and with the strong numbers, waged war.  
The battle against the pair was costly, and seeing how the earth needed its own defense in case they were soon gone, the Guardians solidified the newly forged Dragon Knights. With their help, the knighthood soon became recognized as the new peace keeping force and enforcer throughout the lands. All this while, Armageddon was brewing plans of revenge. He gathered together a force of the most feared thieves, assassins, and the remaining survivors of the Black Knighthood, and readied for a new war.  
This second war swept throughout the lands, bringing to the surface every conflict that had ever arisen between species, races, and kingdoms. The wars were violent and brought new forms of combat and wizardry to the battlefields. The great Noble Dragons and their allies were pitted against their evil brothers. Firedragons, Stardragons, Waterdragons, Winddragons, Snowdragons, and Earthdragons waged fierce battles in the skies. In an effort to gain a military edge over the forces of The Dragon Knights, the dark sorcerers conceived a new hybrid warrior. This warrior was formed from dragon eggs stolen from their nests. The end result was a dragon hybrid warrior known as the Draconian. Standing on average seven feet tall with the metallic skin of their unknown families, the Draconians soon became feared. They had the teeth, horns, wings, and a tail like a dragon, yet fought and spoke like a human. The tides of war changed. However, due to the clashing of various types and styles of magic used in the creation of these beasts, several variations, or "styles" of Draconians were formed. Some had the misfortune of turning to stone instantly upon death, silently disarming the victor, while others would explode, capturing all near them in a spectacular ball of fire that would kill all in it. Some would expel poisonous gasses while another would take the form of the one who killed him, often times causing confusion.  
The Draconians were a devoted warrior race and soon became feared by both their enemies and allies. They were often sent to do the most dangerous missions, tasks that were labeled impossible by many of the Generals in the Black Knights. Due to their skill and often times fanatical devotion to their allies, the Draconians would always leave a surprise, whether it was success, or in the rare instances of defeat, fighting to the last man and inflicting terrible damage to the other side.  
Despite this new weapon, the dark forces once more began to fall back in their attacks. The forces of The Knighthood were winning, and using newer methods of attack and defense to keep the Draconians at bay. In the end, all would go there own separate way. The Draconians became a new race in the world, and learned how to make more of their own kind from the dragon eggs. Their numbers would go on to grow near unchecked.  
During this second war a rumor spread, telling of unlikely warriors for the Dragon Knight forces. The rumor spread and became a popular tale long after the war's end. Very few, though, knew that the tale was true.  
  
PART ONE  
CHAPTER I  
  
The Draconian horde was restless. Never before had so many massed together for this particular style of attack. Never before had this particular group massed together for an attack. They all belonged to the defensive forces and never had they fought in an offensive, save once, a surprise attack on a small expeditionary force near their base. From far off in the distance, sounds could be heard another attack of the same type in another Snowdragon den, that attack being carried though by an elite warrior group.   
Scythe groaned and gripped the scimitar in his talons tighter. His silver scales were shining in the moonlight and the feeling of being so open was near torture. In his mind, the attack was pointless. The way he figured it, they were invading the den, the home, of a Snowdragon couple to help tip the scales in their favor. This was not only considered suicidal by most but also very useless, as the death toll would only be a lot to two. As it was, he stood to lose most of his troop. A horn sounded a low note. It was almost time. He stole a quick glance over at the flaming mountain in the distance. Somewhere over there, we are doing the same thing. All for a wretched victory over the Silvers. He grinned at the thought, hoping he would be alive to see at least one of the Snowdragons, or Silvers for short, die. Another low note sounded, then another. He listened intently as several more joined and waited to add his own, waiting until all other twenty horns sounded together. Once he sounded his own horn, the troop charged into the den.   
The first to enter were struck by a wall of flames that killed them instantly. The rest charged through and attacked. The fighting was fierce and close. If ever a commanding Bozak would die, the explosion would take down most of the warriors around him. The death toll was already massive. Stone bodies and bits of acidic blood were littering the den's rock floor, and the shouts and screams of the Draconian troop echoed off the walls, almost drowning out the loud bellows of the massive Snowdragons. One of the two dragons let out a loud shriek as nets covered it and pulled it tight against the rock floor, the other answered, but could not react in time as a similar attack caught it off guard. Both of the mighty beasts were trapped.  
Scythe ordered all of the warriors [save those that were holding the dragons down] back into their ranks. He waited until he was certain all of the survivors were in place, anxiously folding his wings first over his shoulders as a cloak, and then neatly behind him as a cape. He finally decided the cape was more his look.   
You have done well, for a defensive troop. You have captured two of our mightiest foes. He motioned back at the wounded beasts. Now we vote, execute them now, or take them home. You choose their fates. He held his blade ready, anticipating the answer. It came. In unison, the troops ordered the deaths of the Snowdragons. Scythe grinned. Very well.   
He stepped up to the nearest Silver. It was the male. His scimitar was ready to kill without remorse. He waited, though, as something caught his attention. He stared into the green eyes, seizing their full attention with his own amber eyes. The struggling Silver was still ready to fight and Scythe knew it. "What for Silver? Why live to see tomorrow?" He did not wait for an answer and strode over to the Silver's mate. She gazed up at him in an awkward way. It took Scythe a moment to realize it was the way a mother looks at her young. "What do you wish, beast?"  
"That you take what is on the stone table. One is for another in our line, and one was meant for you."  
Scythe eyed her with intent curiosity. "What do you mean by this?"  
"You will know when the time is right. I will say no more."  
Scythe stared deeply into the amber eyes of the Silver and saw himself in them. It frightened him. He raised the sword quickly and dealt the Silver a deathblow. A single tear was sliding away from the now lifeless eye of the dragon. From across the den he heard the male dragon let out a loud bellow. Scythe was frozen; he could not bring his eyes from the motionless body of the Silver. Deep within him something was now gone, and it hurt him.  
When the troop saw Scythe not moving to slay the second dragon, they began to protest and urge him to end it quick before the silver could escape. When his only movement was to shift his gaze to the male dragon, they took matters into their own hands. The male Silver died silently with his eyes locked on those of the Silver Draconian.  
  
Once the troop had begun the march back home, Scythe took a temporary leave and wandered into the main hall of the dragons' den. The decorations were exquisite and, he noticed, untouched by the blood-crazy Draconians. He ran a clawed hand softly across a painting of what must have been the entire drake family in their human form. The eyes looked out at him from inside the portrait, and followed him, saying something that to him was unheard, yet he knew was there. He turned from it and walked to the stone table. Folded neatly was a gray hooded cloak with two brooches laid upon it. Both were wrought of silver and bore the images of a dragon with wings spread. Both had the same green emerald wings. However, one had amber eyes and the other had sapphire blue eyes. He took all three items and placed on of the brooches, the blue eyed one, in a pouch at his side. Then he adorned himself with the cloak and clasped it with the amber-eyed dragon brooch. He turned away from the table, drawing the hood over his head and expecting to leave, but a glint caught his eye. He walked towards the source to find a looking glass. Curious as to what he looked like with the cloak he paused to examine his image. He started when the image looking back at him was that of the silver he had just killed.  
He left the looking glass shattered and left the den. Messengers had informed the troop earlier that the raid on the Flaming Mountain den had not been successful, so he searched a path from his vantagepoint that led to the Flaming Mountain den and began to follow it.  
  
CHAPTER II  
  
They called him the Nightstalker because his scales were blacker than night and his eyes would glow blood red constantly. Well, one of them, the left having been blinded by a blade during a battle long ago. He was the result of a cruel joke against a black dragon. His skill with a blade and leading armies of Draconians against the Knighthood's forces was considered unparalleled. Now, however, he was the new Draconian definition of a disgrace. He had failed to conquer the two Snowdragons he had been sent to slay, and he had turned against his forces in a surprising manner. Only a few of his troops survived the fight against the two Silvers and the Nightstalker.  
Nightstalker was astonished to find that the two Silvers welcomed him in, and he even looked to them to choose a new name for himself. Now he was to be known by the Dragon Knights forces as Cyrius Centrelli, and he liked it that way. Most of his first day in the den had been spent resting and listening to different stories about the shared adventures of the dragon couple. However now it was nearing nightfall and his sleeping throughout the day rendered him sleepless for the rest of the evening. Just to help prevent total boredom he began to wander around the den's massive corridors, being careful not to enter the sleeping chambers of the two dragons, as they were now resting peacefully. He wandered about for near three hours and explored many of the different caves and rooms in the den.  
Although he himself was excited over the discoveries made in the den, a wave of boredom struck him and gave him the urge to step outside to enjoy the cool evening breeze. Just as he was nearing the final turn that would lead him to the entrance, the sound of clawed feet walking through the entryway made him freeze. He crouched low and waited for whoever was coming. As soon as the intruder had rounded the corner, Cyrius pounced and pinned him to the ground.  
"Ack…."  
Cyrius found himself looking down into the amber eyes of a Silver Draconian. He reached for the sword at his side. "Who are you, why are you in these halls?"  
"Would you please let me up. Besides, I am not so sure I should speak to you right at this moment. Now answer me this, what is your business here?" The Draconian tried to push Cyrius off himself.  
Cyrius drew the blade.  
A loud voice from behind them both prevented what was about to follow. "Cyrius, replace the blade and let the traveler up. I wish to speak to him." Cyrius let the Silver Draconian up, but kept a wary watch over him. "Now Draconian, speak true, why do you bear the cloak and brooch of my friends up north?"  
Scythe stood and bowed slightly. "I see that now I am not original in my thinking." Scythe motioned to Cyrius. "As he has done I now wish to do. I come offering my blade and services to the Dragon Knights."  
"Your skills lie in what fields?" The Silver inquired.  
"Archery and sword play, and I am a trained assassin." Scythe answered truthfully, though he felt a sharp pain in his gut as he mentioned the last.  
"Your last target?" The Silver continued.  
"Your friends in the north, sir." Scythe lowered his head. "And I am afraid to report that the attack was a success."  
Archer Centrelli, as you will now be called, forget your past. You will train with Cyrius." The Snowdragon spoke no more and left the two Draconians alone.  
"Cast away the scimitar, you will not need that here." Cyrius grinned slightly and nodded towards Archer. "Welcome to your new home."  
"Thank you kindly, sir. Home indeed, though I am afraid it will only bring to surface a haunting past."  
"Part of choosing a new path is refusing to dwell on old memories. Learn to realize that what is done is done. Do not blame yourself for all that has happened, and if you are at fault learn to forgive yourself. After you have done that, training will begin. You are now a Dragon Knight. Welcome."  
Cyrius motioned Archer to follow him to the rooming quarters he had been given. "There is more than enough room for the both of us." He explained while pointing out several features that were not in the old Draconian homes [if they could even be called that.] When the tour was over, Cyrius grinned. "It must seem odd to you, and let me tell you it is odd to me. I just learned this the night of the raids last evening. I am new to this as well, so forgive me if I slip up. I recommend you sleep well tonight, though, as it will help you to focus in the morning, and it will also refresh your mind."  
"A good night's rest sounds good. Thank you for the offer. I will see you in the morning."  
Cyrius nodded and left Archer alone in the room. Archer found a comfortable spot and lay down on his back. Up above him, unnoticed until now, was an opening in the roof of the room. Above him was a vast sky filled with stars. He slept well that night with no troubling dreams.  
  
The next morning greeted Archer warmly and he was soon fully awake and refreshed. A new sensation of freedom filled his thoughts and subconscious mind. He journeyed from the sleeping chambers and met Cyrius, who was already awake and conversing with the two Snowdragons. This was the first time Archer had ever looked at the great creatures and not felt that his life was endangered. He took the opportunity to study them and become familiar with their kind. Graceful yet massive beasts, these two about one hundred and forty feet in length. Coated in a mail of silvery scales that shine bright. Absolutely wonderful! He paused his thoughts. I would have been one if the Draconians had not taken me from my nest ere I saw light of day, but then I would probably be dead by now.  
The male Silver was the first to notice his presence. "Welcome, Archer. I trust that you slept well?"  
"Yes indeed, milord. I thank you for your hospitality." Archer replied, bowing politely as he spoke.  
"Archer, the council has heard both the cases presented by you and Cyrius. You are under my care and my watch. However, if you do threaten any other Dragon Knight in any way you will be my lunch. Your services are to be taken up without any complaints, and when you speak to another you speak the truth, unless ordered other wise or if it means the life of either you or the one spoken to. Understand?"  
"Oh really, Syren, is that any way to treat a guest? Hello Archer, I am Flare, and this beast on my right is Syren, though he does like to be referred to as Flame." The female Silver grinned slightly. "Come, eat. You will need it." She cast a sarcastic look to her mate.  
  
The breakfast was good and satisfied Archer's hunger. When everyone was through eating, Cyrius and Flame led the Silver Draconian to a weapons room. Covering the walls were various tools of all shapes, sizes, and types. Maces, though very few, had there own spot in the center of the room with the battleaxes. Several staves, swords, lances, bows and arrows, and even a few thin stilettos covered the rest of the walls. Archer picked out a sturdy staff and a set of two swords that could be joined as one at the handles to form a double bladed sword. Cyrius took with him only two daggers and the sword that he had carried with him the day before. Then the three went into the arena.  
The arena was a large room, not empty but full of obstacles of varying difficulty and content. Water traps, walls, ditches and rocks were all over the floor, the walls enclosing the arena were full of handgrips, and a platform was suspended above the floor, ideal for an archer, yet accessible only by climbing the vertical walls or by flight. Also noticeable throughout the room were traps of various sorts that were set up to be triggered through different methods.  
"Here you fight and learn to fight better. Archer and Cyrius, you will try to use and hone your skills. Use the arena's resources to trap me. Go, now."   
Without another word, the dragon took the offensive. A shaft of flame came at Cyrius, who ducked behind one of the thick, wooden climbing walls of the arena. Archer took advantage of the moment to disappear into a trench. From here, he could see most of the devices and obstacles around him, and he was certain he was out of view. A large net, hooked by releases to chains, was suspended over an area of the arena to his far right. Most of these look gnomish. Archer looked for the trigger. A large, round wooden target to the side of the net must have been it. And I do not have any arrows, or a bow for that matter. A large plume of fire drove through the air over his head and made him duck. Thinking better of his maneuver, he decided to find a new spot. He ran to his left.  
Cyrius poked his head out from behind the wall. He knew the arena; he had studied the arena. Only one trap had been set to work today, and that was the hidden pit on the far side of the ring. The trigger for the trap was on the opposite side of the trap. First sight had placed the trap in the category of "unreachable without death." Cyrius drew one of the daggers and held it at ready. A thought suddenly occurred to him. He searched for Archer. Oh, no. Flame is after him now. He decided now was the time to put his idea to the test.  
"Syren! Tenk et num aus et tirk piet." Now Cyrius' only concern was that Archer used a different dialect of the Draconian tongue. No answer came.  
Archer heard his name, but the words that followed were nothing more than gibberish. He peeked over the top of the trench. The silver was looking for him in the area he had just left. His eye caught a glint of metal directly in front of him. Cyrius was signaling him.  
Cyrius was slightly frustrated that no answer had come. His mind told him it was a difference in dialects. Out of pure desperation, he tried another. "Helenk net auts frukent nyt est."  
"Haufkten nishta deas nytenka."  
Cyrius translated it. The dialects were similar, not the same but close enough. At least the two understood each other. He called out again. Syren, the only working trap it a large fallaway section of the floor. It is impossible to set it off alone. It is also impossible for two to set it off and both come out alive.   
So, I take it you want one of us to act as bait.   
"Dea." Cyrius stole across the floor of the arena to another hiding spot. Watch out, the drake is close to you.   
  
Cyrius received no answer for a long moment. He thought he could make out some movement in the trench, but he only saw it for a brief moment. He waited for what seemed like forever. During his wait he watched as the silver released two fireballs at an imaginary target and three bursts of the paralyzing gas that is a characteristic of the silvers. Cyrius took the time to formulate a plan.  
Archer ducked and took off running. He could feel the heat of the dissipating fireball behind him. He risked searching for the trap that Cyrius had mentioned and found it almost directly to his right. The trigger was on the far side of the arena, near Cyrius. Without a second thought, he gave his reply to Cyrius. Bait! Then, using his wings, he propelled himself over the trench wall and ran towards the other side of the trap door.  
Cyrius ran to the trigger and readied to trip it. He watched in his peripheral vision as the silver turned to face the younger Draconian. A cloud of the paralyzing breath rendered Archer motionless and Cyrius heaved his weight into the trigger.  
Archer felt himself falling, but knew he was helpless to stop himself. He landed in a cloud of dust and dirt, and Flame came down next to him. From up above he heard a loud clink, and a net fell over them both like a shroud. The silver had been caught with one casualty, Archer.  
  
CHAPTER III  
  
"Archer, I cannot stress how crazy and stupid your move was. The point of capturing an enemy is to help you stay alive. Cyrius, next time you speak in a foreign tongue use one the other person knows, and your enemy does not." Flame grinned. "The idea was brilliant, though. Archer, your trench running, duck as you move. Your one true folly with that strategy was that when you moved, I could see you. Cyrius, act more than you think. While you were hiding and studying the situation, your partner was being attacked. Overall, however, you did well. The objective was accomplished. Soon you will be able to do this without any casualties. Remember, you are no longer a part of a Draconian horde, you are working with small groups of no more than four or five. The Dragon Knights do not use brute force as often as you are used to." Flame finished and chuckled loudly. "With luck you will be the best."  
"Thank you kindly, sir." Archer finished wiping the dust off his cloak and looked at a small area of the fabric that had been singed by a fireball.  
"Soon you will learn secrets held by the dragons, well Archer may. I do not think that Cyrius would be pleased with the knowledge of how to use the death cloud. Archer, however, you will learn the Snowdragon's defensive paralyzing breath, if there is time. Both of you will be able to use fire. You will also learn how to communicate with your eyes, read eyes, and hear thoughts shown by eyes. Powerful tools to have as an ally."  
"Sir, I would like to ask a question or two, but in private." Archer glanced up at the Silver, then at Cyrius.  
"Very well. Cyrius, if you do not mind," Cyrius nodded and left. "Speak your mind, Archer."  
"You know the history of this brooch and cloak, right?"  
"Yes, they were both made by the mother of one of the two Silvers slain last night. They became a family heirloom. The brooch was usually worn by the women when they would go out for walks in their human form. The cloak was worn by the men. It was such until the eldest died, leaving the two mates to their home. The brooch and cloak were set aside with sentimental value and meant to be family heirlooms. Before her death, the eldest made a second brooch, one to be worn by the men and accompany the cloak. I am unsure which one you have with you right now."  
"I have both, sir." Archer produced the second brooch from the pouch at his side.  
"So you have. Unfortunate really. They were to be family heirlooms, but the children fled before this was mentioned to them. Well, two of them did. One was lost, taken still in the egg by Draconians. The other never saw light of day."  
"I was told by the Silver, the female one, that 'one is meant for another in our line, and one is meant for me.' I guess I do not fully understand."  
"Archer, how old are you?"  
"Well, the Draconians do not really carry that concept, but I would guess near the early-twenties by your reckoning. Why?"  
"Perhaps…." The Silver left it at that and turned. "I will have to get back to you. Rest for now. Dinner will be served soon. After that you will meet a few guests."  
Archer watched as the Snowdragon disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone. A feeling of slight annoyance coursed through him as he replayed the short conversation in his mind.  
"Archer, come along and rest. You must be ready to impress the guests when they arrive."  
Archer spun on one foot to face Cyrius. "Why, who is coming?"  
"Well, like it or not you have found your way into the den of a highly respected dragon couple. Tonight's guests are members of the High Council, mainly intelligence, but a few from the military. All are important. I advise you to be on your best behavior, you will be judged and questioned. By the way, did you ever consider the possibility that perhaps you are a part of that family?" Cyrius walked up to Archer and tapped the brooch. Then without giving Archer a chance to respond he added: Well, just a thought. Come along.  
Archer grumbled under his breath but followed along. How long have you been with the two dragons?   
Not long, long enough to learn a few tricks here and there. They actually taught me to fly.   
They are that good? Archer stopped walking, impressed.  
Cyrius nodded and turned into a long hallway that branched from the main corridor. Are you tired?  
Not especially. Why? Archer came up alongside to Cyrius and followed along at his side.  
Well, if you are not, and if the Dragons are not resting, you could always ask one of them to teach you a few tricks. Most of it involves the eyes; well at least that is what I have been told. So, tell me this, Cyrius stopped and counted doorways before continuing. Where did you serve before you came here?  
Defenses. Our first offensive was two nights ago. What about you? Where did you serve?  
Cyrius recounted the doors again and stopped at the thirteenth. "NeitKorps." Cyrius looked over his shoulder and grinned at Archer. Surprised?  
Archer stopped at the doorway for a brief moment. You are joking, right.  
No. Come along, you must see this. Cyrius disappeared into the darkness beyond the door.  
Archer shrugged and mumbled to himself before stepping over the threshold into the darkness. Hello? He jumped as the door shut behind him with a loud resonating boom.  
"Drek a frieren, Archer. Telek nacit et nutum."  
Wrong dialect. Archer searched the darkness for something, anything. He found it. Cyrius' blood red eye was smiling at him from near five yards away. Can't be…. Archer strained to see, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. It looked as if stripes of red and crimson were streaking Cyrius' body and glowing.  
Sorry. Archer's train of thought was broken by Cyrius. There are no lights in here, yet. However, I do make one request: look up.  
Archer looked up. Perfectly seen by his eyes, despite the darkness that shrouded the room, was a large mosaic. The scene portrayed was that of a Snowdragon curving under a plume of fire spouted by a massive black dragon. The tiles on the dragons themselves seemed more like scales, and the beasts seemed to be moving ever so slowly in space. The empty blue sky around them gave no depiction of time that either had passed or was yet to come. The tiles that made up the plume of fire seemed to be glowing with heat. The mosaic itself seemed to be giving off its own light.  
Wondering if it were a dream, Archer slowly pulled away from the scene and looked at Cyrius. It dawned on him. The red glow came from the red dragon, which was hovering right over the black Draconian. Archer looked up again. The scene took him away to a battlefield far above the earth. The Silver's motions were fluid and graceful as it came up from under the fireball. The black dragon hissed loudly and dove at the Silver's back.  
Well?   
Archer was ripped from the fight. Torches were now lit and burning, lighting up the tiny room, which until now had seemed large. Irritated, Archer gazed upward again to catch a glimpse of the two dragons. To see who would win the fight. The mosaic was gone. A bare ceiling now hung over his head.  
Where did it go? Archer strode up to Cyrius, who was grinning and leaning against the wall opposite the door.  
Where did what go? That? Cyrius pointed up at a small, barely noticeable silver tile that was glinting in the torchlight.  
What happened to the mosaic? Archer removed his cloak, unfurled his wings, and flew up to the tile to examine it. It was positioned right where the Snowdragon's back had been.  
What mosaic? I was pointing out the glowing tile. Whenever there is no light the tile glows like a star. The first night I was here, that is what I mistook it for, a star.  
Archer's mind was screaming for answers that were probably not coming for a while. He slowly dropped to the ground. Something crunched under his foot. He bent over and picked up a thin, flat rock. He turned it over and found himself looking into the bloodred eye of the black dragon. What do you make of this? He handed it over to Cyrius.  
Cyrius studied it for a moment and looked up at Archer, a puzzled expression painted on his face. 'Tis an old flat stone. Why?  
Archer took the tile. You do not see the eye?  
No. I see an old, brown stone that is flat and thin. Probably chipped from the wall or ceiling.  
Archer just shrugged and slid the tile into the pocket on the inside of his cloak. As he wrapped the cloak about him, he eyed Cyrius curiously. You really did not see the mosaic when the lights were out, did you.  
No. Cyrius extinguished the torches one by one.  
When the last torch had gone out, Archer glanced up in hopes of catching a last glimpse of the two dragons. All he could see was one silver tile glowing as bright as a star.  
  
An hour later, Archer left Cyrius resting in the guest quarters and sought out the two Snowdragons. He found them ere long in the main entrance gazing out at the lands below. Archer came up beside Flare and looked out as well. At first glance, the forests that stretched out below were peaceful, but if one were to look out again one could see that small patches of the forest were burned and blackened. Small fires were scattered along the horizon. The war was coming closer.  
"Archer, do you needed something?" Flare broke the silence but did not look away from the horizon.  
"Yes, Cyrius took me to see the glowing tile, but I saw more than that. The entire ceiling was a mosaic that portrayed a scene. A Silver against a black dragon."  
Flame looked over at him curiously. "You saw the mosaic?"  
"Yes, I also found a tile on the ground, it had the black dragon's eye." He produced the tile and handed it over.   
Flame held it with two talons and studied it intently. "It is the dragon's eye. However, that mosaic was destroyed long ago. How did you see it?"  
"The room was dark and when I looked up it was there. After a while it felt like I was there inside of the mosaic."  
"Who won?" Flare looked down at him. Her voice sounded hopeful.  
Archer shook his head. "I cannot say, I did not see the end of it."  
Flare nodded and looked over at Flame. A silent trade of words seemed to take place between the two for a short while until Flame looked down at Archer. "Go rest up. It is going to be a long night for you."  
Archer nodded and bowed. Before he left, Flame stopped him and handed back the eye.   
"Return this to the room before you go to rest."  
Archer gave the two a curt nod, bowed again, and left the two, who had returned to watching the horizon.  
  
CHAPTER IV  
  
Night came sooner than expected when gray storm clouds filled the sky. Rain fell in sheets and found its way into the open-ceilinged room of Cyrius and Archer. Anything left uncovered was soon soaked. Archer chuckled slightly as the water ran down his face and onto the rock floor. Both of the Draconians quickly shed their cloaks and stowed them in a dry, sheltered place, allowing the rain to run off their quick-drying scales. Then, to pass the time, the two friends struck up torches, drew swords, and held friendly sparring matches.  
  
By the time the guests arrived Cyrius was tending a small cut on his arm while Archer laughed apologetically at his side. They entered the main hall, now clad in their cloaks, still pushing each other playfully. Cyrius looked up at the guests and fell silent upon matching names with their appropriate faces.  
"Archer, Cyrius, glad to see you in such high spirits. I trust you know who most of these guests are?" Flare grinned at the two companions.  
Cyrius nodded, "Indeed some whether we like it or not. Sir Gilden, I did tell you we would meet again."  
"Yes, you are lucky we are now on friendly terms." The Knight grinned uneasily, recognizing his old adversary.  
"I consider myself so. Sirs Edward, Aarynden, Aleksandr, Yur'll, a pleasure to see you all again. The rest of you, however, I am unfamiliar with."  
"Ah, friend Cyrius, those would be Lady Gilldomere, her knight for the evening, Sir Iglamore, the mistress Silvianna, and her husband Sir Gallan." Archer's eyes lit up under his hood. "A pleasure to meet you all, I am sure. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Archer Centrelli, and this is my friend and dear companion, Cyrius Centrelli. I do believe I speak for us both when I say that it is an honor to be in the same room as those who are capable to stand up to the likes of us."  
Flare glanced over at Flame. "I told you they would already know each other well."  
"Flame, you were just telling us a bit about these two, but never mentioned anything about their pasts. Just who are they, or were they?" Gallan's gaze drifted over to the two and studied them.  
"Part of why I never told you who they were is because I do not even know that my self. When they arrived, they chose to leave their pasts behind. We never speak of it unless they start the conversation, and then they can finish it when they choose."  
Lady Gilldomere spoke up. "Well, I would like to say that it is hard to sit in the same room as those who have hunted you."  
"Milady, it is hard to live with those whom you have hunted and killed. None of us feels completely comfortable with this alliance. Despite this, we have agreed to join you. Please do realize we are just as nervous as you."  
"Now you do realize that you two are not the only ones to have joined us in an odd alliance, there is one other, Myriad. He is at our Tryst'n fortress on the warfront." Gallan directed the statement at everyone in the room. "Myriad is a Baaz who joined a while ago, near three weeks. He is already in battle on our side. But I do not wish to speak of that, what I would like to know is what made you choose to leave your kind?"  
"Perhaps some of us are capable of thinking on our own and realized a thing or two." Archer yawned, the sparring had tired him out.  
Mistress Silvianna spoke up. "What urged you to join?"  
"Well, for me it was the sense of seeing my past and knowing what my future held."  
Archer thought a moment before speaking. "The death of someone close to me, whom I killed." He pulled the hood further over his head. "I am truly sorry, but I must excuse myself for a short while." He bowed quickly and walked out of the room.  
Cyrius cast a glance at the two silvers.  
"I would like an explanation for that." James glared at Cyrius. Cyrius did not respond, but rather left the silence to stand.  
"Archer is a trusted friend. He does nothing without proper reason. Do not take offense to his actions. He has his reasons and I do not question them." Flare let the silence settle once more before she spoke again. "Now then, what else would you like to discuss?"  
Gilldomere stood. "If you will excuse me," She started in the direction of Archer. "Tell me what I miss when I get back."  
Iglamore watched her walk off after the Draconian, a slight look of concern crossing his face. "How much trust do you have in that one."  
Cyrius looked to the two Silvers before answering. "Archer is a good friend. His word is stronger than that of any other person I have ever met,"  
"You kill them all ere they have the chance to speak."  
"Not true! Archer is here to change for the better. By my life I guarantee he will."  
"And you?" Iglamore glared up at the Draconian. "Why are you here?"  
"The same reasons. However, unlike my friend my past is a bit more bearable." Cyrius breathed out slowly and a thin wisp of smoke drifted from under the hood of his cloak. "Sir Iglamore, despite what you may be thinking, you are here for us. By us, I refer to Archer and myself. We control the conversation and we have the power to eject any of you from the meeting, forcefully if necessary."  
"And the Silvers? They are the ones who invited us. They must have a say on the matter." Iglamore crossed his arms and took a step towards the Draconian.  
"The Silvers are our overseers. They intervene only if they see cause to. Otherwise they are just listening to us." Cyrius wished his hood were not as low as it was, or Iglamore would learn how just wickedly a Draconian could glare at someone he despised.  
Iglamore looked up to see the two dragons nod in affirmation of the Draconian's words and looked towards the far wall, in obvious agitation.  
  
"Archer?" Lady Gilldomere found him in a room near the end of the hall. Light was cast from a single torch in the far corner, causing shadows to dance about the room and walls. Archer was in the center of the room gazing up at the ceiling. "Archer, I am sorry if-"  
"You have no reason to be." He stood silent for a moment. "Answer me a question, if you will."  
"Anything. Ask me anything." She came towards him and stood facing him.  
"What do you know of the Callystrin Snowdragon family."  
"During the Great War they were very involved. Never a second thought about helping on the front. They always gave good council and were so very kind."  
"What about children. Did they have any?"  
"O, yes. Four...well, there were to be four. One night one of the eggs was stolen. During the theft, a second was crushed. The stolen one was that of their only son. He was to be named Drysdin."  
"What has become of the rest?"  
"Well, the two sisters eventually left. One went over the sea while the second stayed in the Mirkilains, but further north."  
"Any chance I could find them, or at least one of them?" Archer continued to gaze up at the ceiling.  
"I could send a summons to the sister who is still here. Eleanor is her name."  
"And the one who left?"  
"Alyse."  
"I killed them, you know, the two adults. What were there names?"  
"Celeste and Stryker." She looked up at him. "Archer?"  
"Yes?" He looked down from the ceiling.   
"If I may say so, you do look like Celeste…."  
"I wish you would not say that."  
"Why not?"   
"That may be part of why I am here."  
"I am sorry for mentioning it." She paused. "Well, I must be returning to the meeting. I have no doubts that dear old James is waiting for me."  
"Thank you, for your offer of help. Come, we will go back together."  
  
As soon as they set foot in the main hall, James came to meet them. "Come along, Sariah, the meeting is still underway."  
"I am truly sorry, but I have to return home now. I promised mother I would be back for dinner."  
"Will you be leaving, James?" Archer inquired as he made his way towards the two Snowdragons.  
"No, I was hoping to stay longer." He shot Archer a look.  
"Quite alright. We were just planning on leaving." Silvianna and Gallan stood. "Michael and I can escort her home safely."  
"Thank you. Well, James, perhaps I will see you to-morrow."  
"With luck." James strode back to his seat.  
  
The conversation went well into the night. The guests slowly drifted out one by one, Archer would escort each to the door while Cyrius would stay and entertain those whom had yet to leave. James was the last to excuse himself from the den. Archer saw him out.  
Once they were near the main entrance and out of sight and earshot of the others, James came to a sudden halt and drove his knee into Archer's gut. He pinned the Draconian against the wall, drew a hidden dagger and pressed it against Archer's throat.  
"Draconian, I do not know you, I do not like you, and I know you do not like me." He lifted the blade and pressed it against the side of Archer's face. "I guarantee you now, if you are not who you claim you will be I will kill you." He whipped the dagger down, leaving a streak of blood on Archer's face. As he disappeared into the night he yelled back, "I will be watching you."  
Archer reached up to his face and wiped the blood away. You have no need to watch me, James, I am changed and need no one to tell me otherwise. He turned slowly, drew the hood over his face, and strode back towards the main hall.  
  
CHAPTER V  
  
Rain came and stayed the week through. One night in particular it was the sensation of cold water against his face that woke Archer from disturbing dreams. A quick glance at his surroundings quickly told him that Cyrius was gone, no doubt conversing with the Silvers. He slowly brought himself to a stance and stepped out into the main hallway, folding his wings as a cloak to help him stay warm. From down the hall he heard a soft clink, like that of metal against metal. He glanced down in the direction from whence it came. At the end of the hall, he could see something flicker, like torchlight. He began walking towards it.  
As he neared it the torchlight faded and a soft blue glow took its place. Archer stepped into the room. His first sensation was that the room had no floor, walls, or ceiling. The blue glow came from a crystal in the center of the room, and the glow caused everything blend together. He took an unsteady step forward. The blue light faded and the crystal shone like daylight. Surrounding Archer were paintings and artwork of various other styles. Most of the paintings were landscapes, but one caught his eye. It had a single figure standing alone in a shaft of light. All around him were shadows that looked like they belonged to trees, but it was hard to tell. Archer studied it a moment before moving to the next. This one had a monstrous waterfall feeding a bright, sunlit lake. Surrounding the lake was a wide grassy clearing. Surrounding the clearing was an endless forest. The scene held him. He stepped closer to examine it. On the wooden frame was a silver plate that said "Pearl Lake fed by Blue Falls."  
"Do you like it?"  
Archer jumped and hissed, half out of habit; half out of being surprised.  
Flare laughed. "Sorry to scare you like that."  
Archer turned. Flare was standing behind him in her human form. Her light brown hair fell past her shoulders. Her face, which was well lit by the crystal's light, was fair, and her green eyes smiled pleasantly.  
"Well, yes. I am quite impressed." He turned back to the painting. "Where is this?"  
"Oh, the Pearl Lake and Blue Falls are in…." She let the sentence trail off and cocked her head to one side. "Did you hear that?"  
"What?" Archer strained to listen while she ran to the entrance to the room. Not hearing it, he followed.  
"There. I heard it again." She walked out into the hall.  
"I don't hear-" A soft clang came from down the hall. A shout, faint but audible soon followed it. The shout was in Drakoník, the language he had been brought up in. "Oh, no." He ran to his room to fetch his swords.  
Cyrius met him in the hallway and tossed him both blades, already drawn and joined. "The den is under attack. Come along."  
  
In the main hall, the two both found their old troops. Cyrius' led by Pyre; Archer's by his old second in command, a Bozak named Berryll.  
"Each man to his corps. Ready?"  
Archer nodded. Neither had to wait long, however. No sooner had they entered the hall had the two commanders targeted out the two. Both made there way over, scimitars drawn and ready.  
"Let them attack first."  
Archer nodded, but did not to wait long. Berryll attacked as soon as he was in range. The scimitar arced level to Archer's midsection. The attack was easily stopped. Archer brought his second blade down at Berryll's open skull. The path of the blade was blocked.  
"Be careful who you kill and how you kill them. You are no use to me dead." Cyrius pulled his sword back and resumed his fight with Pyre.  
Archer brought both blades to a ready position and swung a low attack. The attack was deflected and Archer swung the second blade towards Berryll's mid-section. Berryll brought his own blade up surprisingly fast and blocked that attack as well. Archer only grinned to himself, spun with the momentum given by Berryll's block, took a step forward and buried the blade into the commander's back. Berryll fell, stunned. Archer caught another attack coming from behind in his peripheral vision and disconnected the two blades. He drove the freed blade out behind him at midlevel and laughed loudly as the attacker literally ran into the blade. He quickly freed both blades and looked frantically for Cyrius.  
  
Cyrius ran every training session he had ever had through his head. There was a reason why Pyre was head of the Korps, and Cyrius was using all the skill he had to survive it. Everything was moving fast. Most everything Cyrius did was out of reflex and instinct. He knew if he paused to second-guess a movement, he would die. Off to his left another Draconian charged to attack him. Without a thought, Cyrius broke the attack with Pyre, swung out at the attacker, wounding him and putting him out of the fight. Pyre chuckled and took advantage of the distraction. He brought his own blade around at Cyrius. Cyrius saw the attack too late to block with his sword, and instead turned his shoulder to the blade. The cold steel bit into his arm and he hissed loudly. Though the blow was weak, it was effective in disabling Cyrius' sword arm. Pyre chuckled and brought his blade up for the deathblow.  
The sound of metal against metal rang throughout the hall as Archer brought one of his blades in between Cyrius and Pyre. Archer continued through with his running charge and threw his weight into Pyre, sending the Draconian sprawling to the floor.  
Fool. Only those who wish to die challenge me. Pyre picked himself up and attacked Archer with stunning speed.  
Archer stepped back with each blow, keeping the blade in his right ready to defend against the next while the blade in his left stayed ready for an attack. Pyre suddenly lunged forward and made to stab Archer, who sidestepped and brought the left-hand blade around to meet Pyre's side. The blade hit home. The wounded Draconian let out a low hiss and vanished in a flurry of wings.   
"Cyrius!" Archer ran and knelt beside his friend. "Are you alright?"  
"I shall live." Cyrius glanced around him. "Oh, no." He pulled himself to his feet, with Archer's help. A slight sense of panic was slowly building in his mind as he realized that the entire force had cornered Flame in the arena.  
"Need help?" Archer spun, bringing both blades to ready, and found himself facing James. He gave a nod and watched the knight run off towards the arena.  
I do not trust him.  
Cyrius nodded in agreement. Keep a careful eye on him.  
  
  
Flame was already dead. The noise they had thought to be a battle was, in fact, a celebration. Members of the draconian horde were dancing about wildly, singing songs Archer had already forgotten, while climbing over the dead Snowdragon and driving their weapons into the scaly skin. Archer saw the sight and growled. He glanced over at James, who was frowning and shaking his head.  
"This is not right, they were not-" He caught himself even as Archer reached out to grab him by the collar.  
He pulled away and steeped back, only to run into Cyrius.  
"You knew about the attack?" Archer drew a sword and fingered the sharp blade.  
"You do not understand, I made a deal with them." He grinned. "They did not live up to their part of the bargain." He glanced over at Flame. "However, you will make a fine substitute."  
He charged, drawing a concealed dagger from behind his back. Archer caught James by the wrist, stopping the dagger's advance, and buried his blade in the knight's gut.  
"Answer me, what was the bargain?" James did not answer. "What did they say to you?"  
"They said…." James stopped and laughed.  
The laugh was cold and sent shivers coursing through Archer's body. He shook it off. "What did they say?" Archer leaned down closer to James.  
"They were both mine." Then the knight slumped over, dead.  
Archer let him fall and freed his blade. "Cyrius, find Flare. I will do something with the horde."  
"There is a series of switches in the weapons room. Put them all up to activate all of the traps. The ones with red targets are lethal."  
"I will remember that." Archer disappeared into the weapons room.  
"Take care, friend." Cyrius ran off to find Flare.  
When Archer came back out of the weapons room he had a quiver of arrows strapped to his side, the blades were sheathed, and he was gripping a torch and a longbow.  
  
Pyre was fading, and he knew it. Silently, under his breath he cursed the two warriors. The Nightstalker and the Sivak would die, and he would be the one to see to it. He turned to face the dead Silver. Just as he was doing so, he saw something flash past his peripheral vision. He turned quickly, despite the protesting pain in his side. Something flashed past again, only this time the floor immediately behind Pyre vanished, as did all standing there. He turned to look into the pit but something flew down in front of his face. It was a flaming arrow. The silver arrow sunk into the chest of a stunned Bozak and the explosion that followed ensured that all in he pit were now dead. Another arrow flashed past his head. He followed it and watched as it sunk into a red, wooden target. Bright plumes of fire suddenly filled half of the arena floor. Explosions, screams, and shouts of warning filled the arena. Pyre heard a crack and looked up. A large wooden platform, well the size of half of the arena, was burning. Two flaming arrows had buried themselves in its underside. Pyre took to the air and flew for the entrance to the arena.  
Archer cut the ropes suspending the platform and watched as it fell, killing and trapping all under it. Archer pulled his last arrow from the quiver and aimed at a red target in the far corner of the arena. The arrow flew true and sunk into the wood. With a loud roar, circular blades housed under the entire arena floor rose and spun, shredding all that were not capable of taking to the air. Archer then unfurled his wings and glided to the arena entrance, silently challenging any of the survivors to stop him. None did.  
  
Cyrius found Flare in the room of the shining tile. A crimson pool covered the ground around her. He hurriedly turned her onto her back. The dagger wound was deep, but only fatal if left unattended. He breathed a quick sigh of relief. At least one should live. He removed his cloak and began to tear it into strips.  
  
CHAPTER VI  
  
In the days that followed, Cyrius tended to Flare while Archer worked to make the Arena a tomb. Seldom a word was passed by either of the three. The only sound that would break the silence was that of a stone falling against another. That alone was enough.  
One week after the attack, halfway through the day, a low rumble filled the caverns and halls.  
"Well, Archer will be done now." Cyrius looked over to Flare.  
"Cyrius, I want you to do something. I will not approach Archer with this because his mind is set on another task already, and is thinking quite the opposite."  
"Revenge." Cyrius nodded. "I know where the hideaway for my group is, and I will go if you like."  
"Thank you, but do take this." She handed him a crystal. "The stone acts as a tracer and will help you find who you seek."  
"Thank you." He took the crystal and placed it in the inside pocket of a dark blue cloak he had been given. It had once belonged to Flame, but not anymore.   
"Good luck, Cyrius." She left the room.  
  
"Archer," Flare came up behind the Sivak. "I wish to tell you this, and I cannot tell Cyrius, because he would not have wanted it so. I am leaving, going away to the lands of the Pearl Lake. Do take care."  
Without waiting for him to respond, she ran down the hall toward the main entrance. By the time Archer reached the entrance to the cave, she was gone.  
Cyrius adjusted his cloak as he came to the entrance of the den. He eyed Archer quizzically before making his presence known.  
"Friend, I am leaving for a short while. Take care of things while I am gone."  
"She left, Cyrius. You just missed her."  
"What?" Cyrius ran outside of the cave and scanned the horizon. True to Archer's word, she was gone. "I did not think she would leave yet." His comment got a glance form Archer. "Well, I am leaving as well, do take care." He waved and began walking towards the east.  
Archer watched him go and turned to return to the caverns when he saw a lone figure coming from the west.  
"Archer!" It was Lady Gilldomere. She ran up to him. "Archer, I found out where one of the Callystrin sisters is staying. I sent a summons but it has gone unanswered. I fear she is gone."  
"Well, if so she would not be the only one. Come, there is much you need to hear." Then he took her into the caverns and related the story that had just passed to her.  



	2. Part Two

"Not all in the world can be done justice through words alone, sometimes sight is all that will do."  
-Jim "Hunter" VonBurace  
  
PART TWO  
CHAPTER VII  
  
The tavern was silent. All eyes were turned towards the newcomer. The stranger was dressed in a dark blue cloak that covered all but the telltale snout of a Draconian. The scales that were the skin of the Draconian were blacker than night, and shone under the firelight. From under the cloak's hood, one eye, the right, glowed a dark blood red, the other could not be seen.  
The dark figure surveyed the room for a while, taking in the expressions of fear and anger directed at him, and seemed to nod in approval. Then he pulled back the hood of his cloak. The left eye was now revealed, pitch black and blind. A deep scar ran from the side of his head, through the left eye, and halfway down his cheek, and in itself told the obvious reason for the blind eye. If it had not been decided by some that the figure was Draconian before, all were certain now, and it had somehow passed into the city unchecked by the guards.  
Claws clacked on the wooden floor as the Draconian made his way to the bar, motioning with a clawed hand for an ale. Once he had reached the bar, he placed himself in between an inventor, who immediately cowered away, and a mercenary who was in need of a job. Then the Draconian turned towards the tavern's occupants and grinned. Some were shocked at the creature's actions, because the grin was not menacing as one would suspect, and some started to turn their attention back to their drinks.  
The barkeeper came with the mug of ale, but was stopped by the mercenary. Then he reached for the jewel-encrusted hilt of his broadsword. "You are not welcome in this town. I would advise you leave now, while you still have the chance to do so in one piece."  
The Draconian eyed the mercenary with his blood red eye and reached for the ale that the barkeeper had brought. "You seem to judge me by others actions. I can prove I am not like them." He took a sip from the mug and set it on the counter, openly showing his immediate dislike of the drink. "Has it not yet occurred to any that I have not made any attempt to disguise myself. I came as myself, hiding nothing. I do not mean any of you harm."  
"All of your kind are the same: evil, dark, and murderous. They use trickery and lies to get what they want." The mercenary drew the blade halfway out of its sheath.  
"Ah, who is more murderous, a mercenary who kills for money, or a Draconian who kills in war? The only ones I kill now are of my race, and they were the murderers, not I." He gave the mercenary a curt nod and sipped again from his ale, cringing and wondering why he bothered drinking it, considering he had no taste for it. "Now put away your sword and do not force me to defend myself."  
The mercenary unsheathed the broadsword and held it at ready. "I will defend these people against the likes of you."  
"Very well, strike me, you drunken fool. What will it accomplish besides nothing?" The Draconian turned to face the mercenary and made no motion to defend himself. He caught something in the mercenaries eyes, something familiar, but he could not place it.  
The glimmering blade swung around at the Draconian's mid-section, but he had anticipated this and stopped the attack with his hand. He gripped the blade tightly and brought his other fist about. The mercenary, reluctant to let the sword go, tried to pull it from the Bozak but to no avail. The force behind Cyrius' fist, combined with the non-moving position of the blade, snapped the sword in two upon contact. The mercenary growled and stepped back, letting the ruined blade fall to the ground.  
"You have no reason to strike me, mercenary, as I have not harmed any of these people. Let me be and I will trouble you not."  
"You will explain your presence here, and then leave."  
A round of agreement rose in the room, urging the black creature to speak.  
Cyrius cocked his head and stared into the mercenary's eyes. He saw something familiar in them. "Very well. My name is Cyrius; I am of Draconian blood, yet I come to aid you. In your town dwell seven or more of my kind, all are wanted for the murder of one of the members of the Dragon Knighthood. I came here in search of one who will help me in killing these seven. If more proof is what you need, then see with your own eyes who sends me." The Draconian lifted a flap on the left side of his cloak, just over the heart. Sewn into the fabric was a dragon patch. As detailed as any could be, it looked as if it would start breathing at any time and fly away. The wings were unfurled and the jaws were gaping at an unseen enemy. The piece itself was made from silver, the eyes from rubies, and the wings from emerald. At this, the room became alive with questions.  
"Yes, I was sent here by order of the Knighthood, proof of that claim is right before your eyes. What you see here is genuine. It is the seal of the Dragon Knights."  
The tavern was soon divided into those who supported Cyrius [this side numbered very few], those that did not support the Draconian, and those who decided to leave. The mercenary glowered at the Draconian; studying his every detail and taking in anything useful that might help him take the beast down if he proved evil.  
"Sir, you are loyal to your town, so I ask you for the help I am seeking. Will you join me?"  
"You have destroyed my only sword." The mercenary turned his back to Cyrius.  
"Then will you accept this as payment for your services?" Cyrius drew, from under his cloak, a broadsword that had been fashioned from silver, and had a hilt made of gold. Set into the blade was the same dragon seal that was sewn onto Cyrius' cloak. "This blade was fashioned by Elven hands, it is powerful and well balanced. You will never find one quite like it." The mercenary took the blade and examined it. "Unlike your former sword, this can resist the acid blood of some Draconians. I have given you a weapon that is capable of destroying me. Now, will you trust me as I trust you? I seek not your services, but rather your trust and aid in my task."  
"You have chosen the wrong man." The grin faded from Cyrius' face and his eyes turned grim as he suddenly recognized what he had seen in the mercenary earlier. "For some things are not as they seem." The mercenary grinned evilly and held the blade at ready.  
"Very well," Cyrius drew his own blade, a broadsword of similar design to that which the mercenary now held, yet more richly designed and decorated with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. "I do believe this tavern should be cleared. Now."  
All but three of the tavern's occupants took to Cyrius' words, and left. The other three took to tables at the farthest end of the tavern to watch the fight, and were swigging ale while cheering the fighters on.  
"Pyre, show your true self." Cyrius gritted his teeth and tried to sum up his opponent, who was now shifting from the human form of the mercenary, to that of a Draconian.   
"You will learn the sting of your own blade." Pyre's silver-gray skin reflected in the sword's silver blade, and his eyes burned like fire. "Today, you will die."  
There was a shower of sparks and a loud clang as the two blades met. Pyre had the clear advantage, and was forcing Cyrius back one step at a time. With a soft grunt, Cyrius ducked and rolled under Pyre's blade, and swung in a wide arc at his opponent's knees. Pyre easily stopped the attack with his own blade, and kicked his former teammate hard in the ribs. Cyrius coughed and rolled away. Using the sword, he picked himself up off the floor. It was then that Pyre saw a window of opportunity for a strong attack. The silver blade whistled through the air before coming in contact with Cyrius' side. The cloak, which was still loosely worn, did very little in the way of armor, and the blade dug into his side with ease. Pyre freed his sword and struck again, with the flat of his blade, at Cyrius' stomach. The blow forced the black Draconian to double over. The last thing he saw before blackness over took him, was the golden hilt of the sword.  
  
Cyrius found himself in a dark cave. In front of him, the rock walls seemed to lead on forever to some unknown destination, whereas behind him there was a black nothingness. Without having complete control of himself, he ventured down the long, dark shaft. Soon he found several other Draconians that had materialized out of nowhere accompanied him. Each wielded a curved, wicked looking scimitars and he too found one in his possession. Still lost as to what his task was, he chose to follow the others, yet found he was beyond control of his own actions still. After a long walk, or a short one [he could not tell] the cave opened into a black cavern. Far above his head, the cavern opened up, providing a wide view of the stars and a bright full moon.  
The company moved deeper into the cavern and entered another dark cave. Cyrius paused to look behind at the path they had traveled only to find once more a black nothingness. He felt puzzled, yet it seemed the explanation was clear. He turned away from the void to find he was once more in a wide cavern. Unlike the first, this cavern offered no view of the sky, and instead of a skyward opening, the far wall open to reveal a dark, flaming mountain. Next to him was an ancient looking suit of armor and a silver broadsword. In the furthest corner from himself, the Draconian Company was doing battle with a great Snowdragon. Cyrius felt that he was a descendant of this great beast and a sudden urge to aid in its defense overcame him. He dropped his scimitar and grasped the silver sword at his side. The ancient blade felt light and strong in his hand as he lifted it high over his head. The blade burned with the same intensity as the great mountain in the distance; and with a great cry, Cyrius brought it into its first battle in centuries.  
  
The others in the company were caught off guard when the attack came. Three fell before anyone noticed. The head of the company growled a fierce order and four of the larger Draconians broke off the attack on the dragon and turned their attention to Cyrius. The blade in Cyrius' hand burned with a blue flame as the four surrounded him. Before they had a chance to attack him, Cyrius charged the largest of the four and slashed a wide arc in front of him. The large Draconian crumpled before him as the blade carved through his mid-section. To Cyrius' surprise, the blade finished its flight, instead of becoming frozen in the body of the now stone Draconian. Just as he was about to come to his senses, a burst of flame seared his back, and incinerated the three who were advancing on him. The great Snowdragon's mate had returned and was joining in the fight. Cyrius waited to be incinerated by flame from the Snowdragon, but it never came. Instead, she beckoned him. She spoke to him, and though he could not hear her words, he knew what was being said. Then, he turned and side by side with the Snowdragons fought until all of the company, save Cyrius himself, was no more.  
  
Daylight came and the sun silhouetted the flaming mountain when Cyrius awoke. He had always feared the sun before, yet now he found that the sun harmed him not, and he was also relieved to feel its comforting warmth. He surveyed his surroundings and found that the two great dragons were also awake. They approached him and presented to him a cloak with the dragon's mark, and with two broadswords. One he recognized as that from the last night's battle, and the second seemed to be its equal. Only one, however, bore the dragon's mark. As soon as these were received, the two dragons spoke to him. As before, he could not hear the words said, but knew all that was said. Then his surroundings faded and were no more.  
  
CHAPTER VIII  
  
Archer watched the sun disappear below the horizon. Several fires now become visible in the forest below, reminders of the war that was going on around them. He sighed.  
"What do we do now?"  
Sariah shook her head as she came up beside him. "I cannot tell you what to do. I have to return to Tryst'n, the caravan I came here with leaves soon and that is the only safe passage from here to there nowadays."  
"I thank you for your help."  
"I am sorry for what James did, had I known-"  
"Do not apologize for another's decision."  
"All the same, I do feel I owe you one." She looked out at the fires below. "If only…." She shook her head.  
He turned to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have been a great help. I do hope our paths cross over again. Now, however, I feel I must continue the search on my own."  
She smiled at him. "If you wish, I do hope we meet again as well. Good bye Archer, I hope you find what you seek." She took one of the unlit torches at the entrance of the cave, struck it, and waved as she started down the trail.  
So do I. Archer waved back.  
When she had disappeared from sight, Archer struck up another torch, drew his cloak tighter around him, and retraced the path that took him from his past, the path that led back to the Callystrin home.  
  
The trek back was shorter than he thought it would have been, and Archer stopped for no rest along the entire, four-day journey. When the torch became too short to hold, he smothered the flame and cast it aside. The moon was now shining full and light was no longer a problem.  
The night wore on and the moon began its descent. Just as it was vanishing below the horizon, Archer arrived to the path that would lead him straight to the entrance. Nothing had changed since he saw it last, even the feeling of dread he had felt when he was commanding the attack on the den. He stopped at the entrance.  
"Aut teh nie…." He looked up at the entrance reflectively, almost mourning the sight of a den void of its once powerful occupants. How different you seem to me now. He took a deep breath and walked into the entrance.  
He made his way down the main hall and into the large room where the fight had taken place. He started. The room, which was left looking like a battlefield, unclean and disastrous, now looked cared for and well looked after. Not a single sign that a battle had taken place could be seen. A haunting feeling came over him suddenly, and he journeyed to the den.  
Once inside the den, he walked around, casually studying and observing the works of art and decorations that adorned the room. Again, he was surprised. He had expected to find dust and cobwebs, but everything was clean. He came to the painting and stared at it a while. The eyes looked back at him, telling him something, calling him. He reached up and took the painting down. It was heavier than he expected. He brought it up near his face and studied every intricate detail, taking it in and storing it in his memory. A sudden thought came to him and he turned the painting face down, so the back was facing him. Written on the back in a light handwriting were the words "If this should go, my life goes with it."  
Archer frowned. The riddle meant nothing to him. He even doubted it was a riddle at all. He set the painting down on the table face down and took a seat next to it. He let a single claw run along a seam in the middle of the canvass that covered the back of the painting. His gaze focused on the seam. He ran a claw along it again. Without thinking, he ripped it open. Inside was a small stack of books arranged in two by two formation, two stacks high. He picked up the book nearest him and opened it to the first page. It was a journal. He set the journal aside and picked up a second. It was a journal as well, only it was written in an elfish alphabet, he could not read it. He put it next to the first. Then he proceeded to check the others.  
More than half of the eight journals were in an elfin script, only two had entries in basic, or the common tongue. He picked up one of them and opened it to the first page.   
  
CHAPTER VIV  
  
When Cyrius awoke, he found that two of the three spectators were by his side and were doing there best to tend the wounds inflicted by his battle with Pyre. The one nearest to him grinned when he found that Cyrius was awake.  
"Well, how was your rest. I suspect it will be the last for a while if you wish to finish what was started." He turned and spoke to the other man next to him. "James, do you mind getting me some more water?"  
Cyrius started to stand until a sharp pain coursed its way through his body forcing him back to the tavern's floor. "Who are you?"  
"Charles, me and my friends here are all freelance peacekeepers. Fetching the water is my brother, James, and guarding the door is Christopher. We have all agreed to help you out."  
"Oh, that is very kind of you, though I must decline. I was told not to place anyone save me in harms way."  
"This is different. We are placing ourselves in harms way for your cause. If you decline we will just carry out the task separate from you."  
Christopher spoke from where he was standing by the locked and barred door. "You have no choice. We will join in your quest whether you like it or not."  
Cyrius frowned for a moment; then, slowly a grin crossed his face. "Very well. We shall form a small company and go forth together." A yawn escaped from deep within him. "It seems to me, Charles, that I have not had my last rest yet." Without another word, he fell back into a deep sleep.  
  
Once Cyrius had awakened, the company set out through the back door. Following side roads and alleyways, they found there way to the main square. At first James thought they were turning to many heads than was good for them, but once they had reached the center of the town square, Cyrius pulled from a hidden pouch a glowing crystal; and this proved to turn more heads than the person wielding it. The crystal throbbed slowly, but as Cyrius stepped away from the town's center, the throb changed pace. Once the throbbing quickened, Cyrius grinned and started walking in that direction. With each step, the beating crystals pace grew faster until the throb ceased and a steady light radiated from within the core of the crystal. Cyrius took in the surrounding area before taking a long look at the building in front of him.  
"You would not mind explaining that crystal, would you?"  
"It is a tracking device." Answered Cyrius without turning away from the building. Suddenly the crystal's light faded and the throbbing returned. Cyrius sprung forward and climbed up the buildings wooden walls. He disappeared for about a minute. When he came back, his sword was drawn and he was wiping the blade clean.  
"One down."  
  
Cyrius followed the crystal's directions, seldom retracing his steps from a wrong turn. The company passed through alleyways and streets. They even took shortcuts through taverns; the people never bothered them about this. At one point, the crystal lit up and failed to dim its light, despite the lack of anyone around him, save for the three in his company. Cyrius looked puzzled at the crystals actions until the light faded several moments later, though it still bothered him long after. The company tracked the new target through the first half of the day, until they came to a large warehouse. Cyrius then hid the crystal and drew his blade.  
"Wait here. I shan't be long." With that, he disappeared through the door.  
  
All was dark inside the warehouse and it took a while for Cyrius' eye to adjust; the blood red light cast by it shone frightfully bright. From somewhere behind him, he heard the shuffling of feet, and then complete darkness fell as the door closed behind him with a loud boom. Cyrius whirled and faced the sound only to find that whomever had shut the door was now moving at a fast pace to his left. He sprung after the sound as swift and silent as a cat; the only sound coming from his cloak as it caught the wind. Just as he felt he had found what he had been hunting, the ring of a steel blade being drawn from its sheath came from the ceiling above. Not long after it was answered by another from behind him. What he had thought was one was in truth two. The blades shone dimly, catching what little light they could, as their wielders advanced for an attack on their unknown intruder. Cyrius crouched and waited; the only thing that was giving away his presence was the gleam of the Elven blade and the glow of his eye; both now glowing red.  
The attack came from above rather than from the front. The blade from the ceiling cut through the air and whistled slightly as it searched for a target. All it found was the blade wielded by Cyrius. Cyrius jumped back as soon as the attacker's blade had been deflected, and struck just behind where he thought the blade was. He found only empty air. Acting on instinct he crouched and swung the blade behind him. His luck was better, for the Elven blade carved deeply into something and stayed. A loud shriek filled the warehouse and Cyrius braced himself. Whatever he had struck was Draconian, and since it failed to turn to stone that meant another end would come. He needed not wait long. The blast from an explosion echoed off the walls and Cyrius was pitched forward. Another loud shriek came from his right as the second Draconian charged. Cyrius raised his blade in defense only to find it was missing. He hissed and jumped back, probing the ground for his lost blade. A loud clang and a shower of sparks filled the air in front of his face. He had been spared a painful death by a mere fraction of an inch.  
Cyrius groped blindly for a weapon until he clasped his hand upon the hilt of a sword. He knew it was not his, but any defense was better than none. With a loud hiss, he struck out at the dark shadow in front of him. The Draconian sword bit deeply into his adversary and stuck. Cyrius knew it was useless to attempt extracting the blade, which was now stuck in stone. Instead he searched frantically for his blade. He searched for a long while until finding it, but it was also after finding it that he became aware of three pairs of glowing eyes that were watching him. One pair, colored amber, moved towards him while the light cast by them glinted off the metal surface of a blade. The other two, colored green and blue, moved to surround him. Cyrius waited until he saw a moment to attack. Once he found it he charged forward at the amber eyes. The eyes jumped back and swung their blade at him. Cyrius easily parried the attack and swung his blade in a wide arc. As soon as he had done so, the smell of acidic blood filled the room and all three pairs of eyes disappeared.  
Cyrius searched the warehouse until nightfall. Finding nothing, he returned to the door through which he had entered. Outside he found the others waiting for him; Christopher was clutching a stained red bandage to his left shoulder.  
"Are you hurt badly?" Asked Cyrius, carefully inspecting the wound.  
"'Tis nothing, a gift from some of your friends." He answered.  
Cyrius simply nodded and removed the crystal from within his cloak. Four of the eight faces shone brightly, while three others blinked off and on rapidly. Cyrius showed nor told the others this. He wished to be the only one to know what it meant.  
  
  
CHAPTER X  
  
"To-day was pleasant, more so than the last few. Some of the fighting has resided; you would be shocked at how quiet the lands are. Stryker has gone to visit the front once more. He is very involved in the war, is Stryker. How I wish I could be there by his side. Well, we all have our individual responsibilities. Earlier to day, I went to our friend's residence in the south. We passed the hours repairing a damaged mosaic that was commemorating the Dragon Knights' fight against the dragons Vertigo and Armageddon during the first Great War, during the first war against Armageddon. The finished work was marvelous; and I believe that the Knights would be pleased with the work, especially Sabre, the one whom is portrayed dueling against Armageddon. Now I am writing while I keep watch and guard over the nest. The day is soon, perhaps in the next month or two, I have lost track of how long I have watched them. My only fear is that they will be brought into a world full of violence and war, and not one of peace. There is one land that is to the west that is peaceful, even now half of our numbers have moved there. I would, but it is too late to move the nest. Even so, I feel that the war will not last long. We are winning, and our numbers are greater ten fold."  
Archer skipped ahead a few pages. He knew enough about the war and wished to hear as little of it as he could. He wanted to learn about the family, not the wartime fronts.  
"The stars shine bright, and the forest fires brighter. Some seem to spring up without warning, others burn days ere they are extinguished. I am worried, Stryker has yet to return. I would like him here. Not long ago I caught three Draconian scouts, Bozak, they were easily dispatched and no harm was done to the nest. In spite of this, I am worried for the well being of the nest. The scouts showed me how close the war is to the home. For reasons of safety, I have sealed all but one entrance to the den, and I guard the one. Most of my time is spent in thought, though I regret I am not writing down as much as I should."  
The writing stopped halfway down the page. Archer turned to the next one. It contained a sketch of a dragon flying upwards, wings spread, head facing straight forward, tail straight behind. The quality was quite good, and Archer was almost tempted to tear the page out and keep the drawing for his self. He thumbed through the pages to find another entry.  
  
CHAPTER XI  
  
With a long day behind them, the four turned towards the night. They set out for the center of town and in search of something to help them sleep. That was all they were thinking of when they found what appeared to be the busiest tavern in town. It was run by two brothers, Paul and Jay, and that was its name. The "Paul 'n' Jay's" tavern. The drinks were cheap and high in quality, and soon all troubles were forgotten by all, save one. Cyrius never touched the drinks in front of him. His mind was preoccupied with the dangers ahead.  
He knew his former leader's mind and guessed where he would be without trouble. This was the place. The only problem was that the crystal had become unreliable, no longer able to fulfill the task it had begun. The only reason for this was his three companions. They interfered with the crystal's intricate magic workings. They had revealed who they were to the crystal, and now the crystal knew where they were. Unfortunately, this meant that the crystal would soon have to change, and Cyrius knew not how to change it. That was the dilemma he faced now.  
His first decision had been to take all three out at once, but that had become hard. They were masters of deception and were strong. They also worked together in a team. Cyrius doubted they had allowed themselves to become drunk, and that the show they were giving him was no more than an act to throw him off guard. The only possible way this could happen was if the drinks were false.  
It struck him so suddenly he almost leapt up to announce it. The drinks in front of them were fake, that meant one of their kind was acting out the part of either Paul or Jay, or even both. Cyrius quickly told the other three he was going to find a stronger drink, and started to make his way through the crowd towards the bar. Occasionally he would glance behind him, or in the reflection of the windows at his companions only to find that they were watching him intently, and no longer in a drunken state. This worried him little, for it proved his theory. Almost without showing, he pulled the crystal out from under his cloak. Three of the facets remained lit, while the other six pulsed rapidly. That meant that three were dead, and six were in the building, including himself. He could end his task tonight. The only problem was finding the other two Draconians. One of them had to be a bartender, and the other could be anyone in the room. That was the only problem. Cyrius did not wish to have an innocent death on his hands. At least not now. He ventured closer to the bar and glanced at his crystal. Three of the faces were pulsating faster; one had gone dark. Slowly, one after another, all went dark, save for four, the three for the dead, and his own. He silently hissed under his breath. The company had left him, proving his assumptions, and now he had lost all trace of the others.  
  
CHAPTER XII  
  
"The days are long, the nights longer. Stryker was home, but only for a brief while. He tells me the fronts are coming closer, and to be prepared to seal the last entrance should the need arise. If I am to do this work must be started on a skyward access to the den. I grow weary as each day passes. The emotional fatigue is tremendous. I almost failed to realize how much could happen over the course of a month. The eggs are almost ready, only another few weeks and they will be ready to hatch. The forest is burned and silent, all of the animals have left. Winter is coming and snow is threatening to fall any day now. The winds are cold and relentless."  
Archer set the finished journal down and stretched. He had been reading all day and needed a break. He had learned less than he liked to think he could have, even though he had gone and re-read some of the entries he had skipped. Most of the writing was about the war on the fronts and Celeste's desires to live on an island to the west. He reached for the second journal. The first page was written in elfin, but had a translation in basic beside it.  
  
Still, Still, Still,  
Hush all ye here.  
That which we all have feared,  
Slowly draws ever near.  
  
Open wars with open fronts,  
Tears through the lands.  
Ripping lives at the seams,  
Forever haunting minds.  
  
Still, Still, Still,  
Very close, is it now.  
The time draws near,  
And like a falling tear,  
Lives will slip away.  
  
  
Archer read it twice before going to the next page. The only entry was a repetitious "still, still, still." Puzzled as to why he had not caught this earlier when he was scanning for languages, he continued on. Blank pages followed by a randomly placed "War draws near." or "Still, still, still." Halfway through the journal Archer found a large tear, no doubt caused by a dragon's claw, rendering all but about three pages near the end useless. Two of the three pages were written in elfish, the third and last was in basic.  
"Never again will a Draconian set foot in any den that I live in. Only one will pass unharmed. This I swear. My reasons for doing so are thus. Late in the night, a noise stirred me from an unexpected sleep. I checked the nest to find one egg, the one to be my only son, stolen. A second was crushed, the offspring inside killed. Only two remain now, they will be watched without end until they hatch and come to age. I will not allow them to come under any harm, even if the price for this is my life."  
  
CHAPTER XIII  
  
The town mayor looked out at the vast crowd before him. This was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he had yet to do it. This had all started when a dark, tall, cloaked man approached him and warned him of a great danger. This was followed up by another, a tall man who ran a local tavern with his brother, who asked that the first be slain before the townspeople. A tough choice was to be made, and after a long time of thinking, he had decided. Now he needed to tell the town.  
"May I please have your attention!" The crowd quieted down. "Four nights ago I was approached by two people. One was a visitor you are all aware of by now; the other was a resident. One advised me to be on guard for a great danger, the other, to slay the first in a public execution. I have since talked to each, listening to their reasons for what they wished and have decided the following: I cannot execute a visitor unless he or she has committed a crime in our town. This has yet to occur. What I have noticed is that the stranger has brought our town good fortune. There will be no public execution and this town is to be placed on alert for one week. I advise you to leave him in peace. Thank you and good day."  
The mayor had barely finished speaking when a loud cry rang out amongst the crowd. Stones were lobbed at the stage, which was quickly evacuated. The mayor stealthily made his way to his house and waved at the guard by his gate. The guard nodded and motioned for the mayor to go behind the wall that surrounded his house. Awaiting the mayor behind the wall was Cyrius.  
"A good choice, mayor." The Draconian smiled at the startled mayor.  
"I have granted you some time. You have a week to do your deeds and then you must leave. If you are not gone by then, you will be hunted. Now leave."  
"Good day to you." Cyrius bowed and left, nodding to the guard on his way out.   
The mayor watched him leave and frowned. A second cloaked figure approached him from behind.   
"I wanted him dead."  
"Not everything that opposes you needs to die, Pyre."  
"True," The Draconian eyed the mayor. "At least not yet."  
The mayor turned and found the two eyes boring into his. "I wish for you to leave as well."  
"I am sorry, but I cannot comply." There was a soft ring of metal as Pyre drew the silver sword.  
  
The town soon took a turn for the worst. Riots broke out and stores were constantly looted. The mayor made several appearances and had recently announced that the Shadow Warrior, also known as Cyrius, had attacked him. The Draconian was now wanted for assault, and wanted dead. Hunters and slayers had taken up arms against the hated traveler who had brought nothing but trouble.  
Jarred, one of the towns most admired, and feared, executioners had announced a meeting of any and all who wanted to aid in the capture and slaying of the beast. He had announced that the meeting would be held in the old mines in a nearby mountain to help maintain secrecy and security. Almost all made plans to attend.  
  
Cyrius climbed the rock wall. He knew well he could have flown up, but the activity and challenge of the climb allowed him to think. Something had gone dreadfully wrong in the town. He was once welcomed, and now he was hunted. All seemed strange; nothing was what it used to be in the town. He would have left the town had he not felt the urge to finish what he started. That is why he took to the rocky bluffs to the east side of the town.  
Cyrius grunted softly as he pulled himself over the top. From up here he could see the entire town. He took up his perch and looked down. Something was not right. Today was as clear a day as there could be, but something was not right. Usually he could see people bustling about below. Now, however, the town was empty. Not a soul was there to be seen. He nervously clicked his claws together and swept his tail side-to-side while pondering the meaning of this. As he was doing so he took notice of the main road and followed it through the town and into the rocky bluffs.   
He was about halfway up the trail when he saw a figure climb from a small cave-like opening near the side of the trail. The figure was unmistakably Draconian. He stood and unfurled his wings. He took a quick moment to study the situation ere he drew his sword, caught the wind in his wings, and dove.  
The Draconian was caught off guard and his throat slit before he knew Cyrius had entered the cave. Cyrius dropped silently to the ground and unsheathed his blade. The cavern walls around him were bathed in shadow and daylight reached no further than three feet into the cave itself. Ahead he could hear the laughing and shouting of those who he had come to hunt. He grinned, darkness was his friend. The lack of light allowed him to hide and move about unseen. The only problem was in that his eye would glow brightly. To help hide it he pulled his hood over his face. Now he could not see very well at all. He hissed softly.  
As he made his way deeper into the cave, he became aware of a faint light ahead, around a nearing turn. The light probably came from the same source as the voices. Cyrius gripped his blade tighter in his hand. It was now his training would come into use. He hoped he did it right. He stopped just before the corner and unsheathed a throwing knife. Then, taking one quick breath he charged.  
Three Draconians stood, taken off guard. The nearest fell victim to Cyrius' sword, the furthest to the knife, the third ran. Cyrius unsheathed a dagger and would have given chase had a low chuckle held him where he stood.  
Nightstalker. You have returned. I knew I would not be rid of you unless I killed you myself. You make things too difficult.  
Cyrius! My name is Cyrius. Pyre, I am through with the likes of you. I guarantee, show yourself and I will be the end of your Night Corps. Try me now, I dare ye." Cyrius threw his hood back and scanned his surroundings.  
Cyrius, you have never beaten me, why wait and lose again?  
From behind him, Cyrius heard something catch the wind and come closer to him. He ducked as a lit torch flew over his head and slammed into the ground in front of him, exploding and temporarily blinding Cyrius.  
Come on, fiend! Try to find me. If you do, I might let you have a chance to live.  
Cyrius followed the voice, his blade ready and all senses on the alert.  
Find me if you dare.  
Cyrius searched frantically for any sign of Pyre but his eye could only see a few inches in front of him. Then for a brief second, he thought he caught a glimpse of something flashing off to his right. He turned to face it. An invisible force drove into him. His only reflex was to hold on to whatever had hit him as he lost his balance and fell backward. Whatever had hit him was suddenly gone. Cyrius stood and took a defensive stance. Darkness was all he could see.  
Pyre found a good grip for his feet and hands and hung from the ceiling. Below him, he could see his prey threatening nothing but air. Pyre had to grin; Cyrius was unknowingly nearing a cliff that dropped into an abyss. Pyre had only flown to the bottom once, and it tired his wings out ere he finished the flight back to the top. Almost there, keep walking.  
Cyrius paused a moment. Something was not right, he had an odd feeling he was heading the wrong way. He turned and stared hard into the path behind him. Something ran into him, hard. This time he held on to whatever had hit him, and refused to let go. Together they fell over the edge of the cliff.  
They were falling fast. More out of instinct than thought, Cyrius opened his wings and let them fill with air. He heard a hiss near his ear as Pyre fell away. It took Cyrius a while to realize he had lost his blade. No sooner had the realization come did the distant sound of metal hitting rock reach his ears.  
Pyre stopped his descent and looked up. Over his head, he could see Cyrius. He drew his blade and charged.  
Cyrius saw the attack coming and moved to the side. As he was doing this he gripped the hilt of Pyre's blade and flipped into a dive, hoping to pull the blade free.  
Pyre felt the blade almost get ripped from his grasp. At the same time he felt it run through something soft and thin. He felt, rather than saw, a large object fall away. Puzzlement held him for a moment until he realized he must have damaged Cyrius' wing. That would render any flying beast flightless. He laughed.  
Cyrius held the dive. His eye focused on a faint blue glow below him. As he neared the source of the glow, he could faintly distinguish the shape of a sword, his sword. He reached for it and broke his free fall.  
Pyre hissed at the sound of wind being caught by something and looked down. From far below, he could see a faint glow. He roared and dove. The traitor would die to day, and he would see to that!  
Cyrius could see perfectly now. He watched as Pyre came down on him, blade ready. He held his own, which, to his surprise had not been damaged by its fall. He waited and watched patiently. The Sivak leveled out of the dive and started on a straight course, sword leading the way. Cyrius just stood and let his sword rest on his shoulder. A grin crossed his face.  
Just a while more. He gripped the blade in both hands and brought it out level in front of him. He stood with his side facing the advancing Pyre, waiting. Pyre continued to advance. Cyrius swung the blade back to the shoulder furthest from Pyre and widened his stance. Pyre was almost right where he wanted him.  
Now! He stepped back a short step, Placed his weight into his back foot, bent over a little ways, shifted weight to the front foot, and swung the blade at chest level. The steel met Pyre head on. Cyrius tried to hold the blade but it was torn from his grasp as the wounded Draconian continued its flight past Cyrius, and crashed to the ground some distance behind him.  
Cyrius could no longer see anything. He ran to where he thought the Sivak had landed but found only his blade.  
You won this round, but the war continues. A loud laugh followed it, seemingly from all sides, and then vanished.  
Cyrius frowned to himself, sheathed his blade and began the tiring climb back to the top. When he finally came out into the sunlight an icy wind met him. He drew the cloak tighter around him. When the wind was not completely broken near his midsection he glanced down and grinned. A tear ran through half a foot of the fabric.  
  
CHAPTER XIV  
  
Though the threat may have been beaten, the town was forever affected by it. Cyrius almost did not want to return had the summons not come for him. The slightly frightened messenger that had delivered it had told him it came from the Dragon Knights and that alone would keep anyone from killing him. A slight relief, but Cyrius still felt somewhat threatened upon reaching the town. Everywhere doors and windows were shut tight. Whenever someone would pass him a scowl would be on his or her face. None seemed entirely happy to see him, save one.  
He was standing in the square, near the tavern that saw the beginning of the previous adventure. It was Gallan.  
"You called me, sir?"  
"Cyrius, we need the help of you and your friends. Tryst'n is under attack."  
  
CHAPTER XX  
  
Archer set the book aside. The emotion behind the written words could be felt even after years of hiding in a painting. His rage against his brethren, the Draconians, was becoming stronger as the words played through his mind. He made a quick, silent vow that he would, under any circumstances, live to uphold the values of Celeste Callystrin, even at the cost of his life.  
He slowly stood, replaced the picture, and prepared to return to the den he now called home. As he walked, deep in thought, memories of the battle against the Callystrin came to mind. He blamed his self for their deaths. The guilt haunted him and hung about him until it took a momentary hold of him and he drew his blade against a burnt tree, sending the charred remains crashing to the ground. It was with this heart and mind that the messenger found him with a summons from Cyrius.  
  
  
CHAPTER XXI  
  
"The fight for the Tryst'n Fortifications was fierce." Cyrius paused as he glanced back at the pile of ruins. What had once been a powerful fort is now laid to waste. He continued. "The siege lasted for near a month before a small relief group could arrive. The extra help, however, was useless to prevent the raid and eventual takeover of the fortifications. Those killed for the Knighthood's cause included Myriad, a Bozak Draconian who, in his death, brought down a Black Dragon that had been ravaging the east walls of the fort. Also killed, and I regret being the one to break this to you, were Lady Gilldomere and Sir Gallan, both died on the front lines, blades in hand.  
"I do regret that I was one of the few that fled the battle, though there was little I could have done. Pyre was there, I could have engaged him, but he was at the heart of the attacking forces and their armies. Nothing could be done for Gilldomere, I am sorry towards her loss, but she died bravely. Take comfort that her killer died soon after her by my blade."  
Archer looked away from his friend and surveyed the collapsed walls of the once powerful fort. "It must have been a large attacking force."  
"It was, three of our," he stopped. ",their largest combined." Cyrius shook his head.  
"I regret not being able to arrive sooner."  
"You would have fought bravely, and died." Cyrius sighed and reached into his cloak. When he withdrew his hand, he produced a small red crystal. The eight sides of the crystal were glowing brightly. "I need to leave these lands. Everything I need to leave is here."  
"Everything?"  
"Not you, you can come if you like."  
"I must decline. I still have to find something ere I leave."  
"How goes the search?"  
Archer shook his head. "Not as well as I would like, though I have found more than I expected."  
"I hope you find what you are looking for, friend."  
"And I, you."  
"Fare thee well." Cyrius turned and began following an old path. "May we meet again."  
"May we meet again, friend." Archer watched Cyrius leave until he disappeared in the trees.  
  
CHAPTER XXI  
  
Cyrius walked until his feet were tired. Once they were, he took to the air. He traveled for near two days, always to the west, until he was tired and could go no further. Only then did he stop and rest. Not more than twenty feet was the great sea. The waters were spotted with islands, but it was easy to miss one if you did not know where to go. Cyrius hoped he would head in the right direction. During the siege, he had overheard a conversation about an island to the west of the Mirkilains. Anyone who was dissatisfied with the war, or wished to escape it was going there. Cyrius was tired of the war, and the Mirkilains. Too many memories, the past was haunting him continuously. He was tired.  
He rested until he felt he was ready. He knew it would be either his last flight, or the start of a new life. Now was the time to find out. He strode up to the water's edge, let his wings catch the sea air, and lifted off the ground.  



	3. Part Three

"Trust can be a powerful ally, or a deadly enemy. When one trusts you, never use that trust against them."  
-Allan "Viper" VonBurace  
  
PART THREE  
CHAPTER XXII  
  
Archer entered the dragon's den in the Callystrin home. It was becoming a second home for him, and every minute he was gone, the more he would miss the welcoming corridors, halls and rooms, and the more he would appreciate returning. It was his third visit and he had grown to accept the fact that the dust never claimed a hold in any of the rooms.  
Now that Cyrius was gone, he decided to devote his time to decoding the Elven Journals. He stayed in the main hall for a while, admiring bits of artwork he had never noticed during his previous visits, before he entered the room where he had left the journals on the table. They were gone. Everything was as if Archer had never disturbed the room. The journals had been taken and put somewhere. Where, he did not know. He only knew they were gone. Out of pure desperation, he pulled the painting down. One corner of the frame disturbed a small piece of pottery and sent it falling to the floor. It broke with a loud crash. Archer only jumped back and looked behind him nervously, as if he expected someone to be there.  
He slowly regained control of his breathing and thoughts. Once he was calm enough, he set the painting on the table and pulled a chair out to sit. He was just about to do so when he heard steel sliding from a leather sheath behind him.  
"Who are you?"   
The woman's voice made him jump. He spun and would have drawn one of his blades had he not felt the cold metal of a thin blade pressed against his throat.  
"I ask you again, who are you?"  
Archer wanted to turn; she was just outside of his vision. He chanced to turn slightly more towards her. The blade stopped him.  
"One last time. Who are you, and why are you here?"  
"Archer Centrelli, but that is all I will give you until I find out who you are."  
"Answer me this, are you fool enough to raid this home?"  
"Once, but that is done and over. I mean the home no further harm." There was silence. "Now then, who are you?"  
"Eleanor Callystrin."  
Archer risked a glance in her direction. She was a good two feet shorter than he was. Her amber eyes were set on his, full of determination. Her amber colored hair fell just short of her shoulders and was tied up with a blue ribbon. Currently gripped tightly in a white knuckled hand was a foot long blade, as thin as the shaft of an arrow, but sharp enough to cut through armor if driven hard enough. The blade was currently poised to kill should the need arise.  
"Now that you have my name, what are you doing here?"  
"Searching."  
"Really, for what?"  
"Family." Archer watched as the blade dropped to the ground. "You can help if you like." He turned and began to walk to the far end of the room where a bookcase stood.  
Eleanor watched him, puzzled at first. She quickly recovered, however, and drew a dagger. "I still do not trust you." She slowly reached down for the stiletto. Once it was in her grasp, she held it at ready.  
"Your choice, not mine." He probed the books with a clawed finger. "I am looking for a group of journals that I chanced upon during my last visit here."  
"So that was you, I was wondering who found those."  
"Trust me yet?"  
Eleanor shook her head. "No."  
  
CHAPTER XXIII  
  
Cyrius collapsed into a scaly heap as soon as he was at a safe height to free-fall. The flight lasted longer than he hoped it would, but at least he had made it. While taking in large gulps of air, he took in his new surroundings. To his right was a lake, lit to the point of glowing by a now full moon. He was resting in a clearing that seemed to be about a mile in diameter, and was surrounded by a seemingly endless forest. He stood and looked for a good place to start. He took a quick drink from the lake before starting straight into the forest that was ahead of him.  
The trees around him held a beauty that had been lost in the Mirkilains after the wars. About forty paces into the forest, he came upon a stream, which he decided to follow inland. He had not gotten far when something stung him in his chest. He put a hand up and felt something hard under his cloak, just over his heart. He reached in and pulled out the crystal Flare had given him to track down Pyre, it was dark. He held it thoughtfully a moment before he threw it aside, he would not need it now. A soft light caught his eye through the trees to his right. He jumped the small stream and started towards the light. As he came closer, he could see it was a tavern.  
Cyrius walked in without worry. The only people at the bar were two freelance fighters in the far corner, a man at the bar, and the barkeep, who was a woman. He studied the barkeep. She stood about five foot two, gold hair, and blue eyes. She also had a charm about her that showed through her face and eyes, and in all that she did. The man at the bar was roughly the same height, brown hair, wearing a dirty, brown overcoat, but that was all Cyrius could see from where he stood.  
"I'll tell ya, if he causes any more trouble I'll-" The man cut off in mid sentence as the barkeep nodded towards the door. He turned. Now Archer could see that he had deep green eyes that seemed to shift to a soft gold whenever the light shone on them from a different angle. "Another one?" He snorted. "Cause any trouble and I'll see ya to your grave."  
Cyrius gave him a puzzled look. "Trouble sir? I seek it not."  
"Good." The man stood. "M'name's Hunter. This is the Quiet Tavern, owned by the lady Saren back there. I try to make sure it lives up to its name."  
"How very kind of you." He replied rather dryly. My name is Cyrius Centrelli. I just flew in from the Mirkilains to escape the war."  
"Whose side did you leave?"  
"Both." Cyrius made his way to the bar. "Water, if you do not mind."  
"No problem." Saren pulled out a glass and filled it. "Here you go."  
Cyrius thanked her and took a sip. "Hunter, where exactly am I?"  
Hunter laughed. "You flew here and don't even know where you are?"  
Cyrius nodded.  
"Welcome to Fetare."  
"Fetare? Sounds pleasant."  
"So long as everyone is nice to everyone else, it is. Wait until you have seen the rest of the island. Then, of course, to the northeast is Fallaci, a smaller island that shares similar qualities. I like it there almost as much as I do here!"  
"I shall remember to see it for myself." Cyrius took another sip of water and rubbed his tired eyes.  
"Come on, I'll show ya around to some of the finer spots of Fetare." He stood and dropped a few coins on the bar. "Saren, I'll be back when I am done."  
"Hey, I can handle any thug as good as you can."  
"I know, I just like to do it for you."  
Saren threw a wadded up towel at him.  
  
CHAPTER XXIV  
  
Eleanor frowned at Archer. "Well, I can already assume you were a part of the raiding force responsible for their deaths, or that you are just a thief that came looting afterwards; you do have the brooches." She turned enough to give the effect of turning her back on him, but not enough to place him outside of her field of vision.  
"These were given to me. All I ask is where Alyse might be, so that I can find her."  
"And then what, kill the rest of the family? I assure you that you will get no further in that."  
"I do not plan to, that is why I changed sides."  
She just glared at him.  
"What do I have to do to gain your aide?"  
"You can't." Eleanor turned her back completely to him, no longer looking at him. "My parents are dead, from what you tell me one by your hands, one at your command. My mind is made, you can leave if you do not like it."  
Archer thought better of speaking another word and turned to leave.  
"Thank you, though, for telling me what happened."  
Archer nodded and left.  
  
The entire way back from the Callystrin den was full of thought. A new element had come into his search and Archer now found himself facing a new roadblock. A soft boom echoed over his head and he looked up. Clouds were gathering, threatening to bring heavy rains. Archer decided to take a faster route home. He cut through the woods, using one of his swords to hack through thick bush. He was following instinct more than factual direction and soon found himself in a clearing with a river cutting through the center of it. He sheathed the blade and looked around. Over his shoulder, he could see his destination. Now he had to decide how to get there. He could risk flight, but if it rained too hard, the added weight of the water would make him crash. He could walk, but if the rains came, it would bring toil and labor, adding to what would already be a lengthy journey. As it stood, the woods were looking more welcoming than the air. He turned to set his bearings straight and see if he could find a path to follow. Something hit him hard from behind and knocked him to the ground.  
Archer hissed as he turned to face whatever it was that had knocked him down and his heart froze. Standing before him was an eight-foot tall wraith, a creature composed of everything necessary for killing prey. It stood hunched over, and tipping each of the ten fingers on rather long arms were razor sharp claws, each extending more than four inches a piece. The wraith stood on the balls of its feet, rather than flat on them. This was rumored to allow them to have faster acceleration when running, and to make them appear taller. As Archer summed up the wraith, he could hear the sound of thick saliva rolling down the dark green face and falling to the ground.  
The wraith roared and jumped, bringing both clawed hands to bear on Archer. Archer rolled from under their path and drew one of his blades. He swung and cried triumphantly as the blade started an unobstructed flight towards the wraith's neck. The cry became obsolete as the blade struck nothing but armored scales. The wraith knocked Archer's blade from him and took a step towards its prey, the only thing distracting it now was a distant cry from a Firedragon. The wraith lunged and threw its weight into a one armed swing that caught Archer in the side and threw him into a ditch by a river. Archer cried out in pain as he grasped the wounded area and felt the warmth of his own blood. The wraith stood tall, prepared to deal the deathblow to its prey.  
The Firedragon's shriek was the only thing that saved Archer from the wraith. He watched stunned as the red dragon dropped on the wraith, picked it up in its jaws and bit down. A soft thunderclap sounded above him as he watched the Firedragon finish its meal and then turn to him. Archer could tell the dragon was into the kill for the sport of the kill now, no longer hunger. He braced himself as the dragon pressed him into the ground with a giant clawed foot that was well the size of half his own height. The dragon lowered its head and gave his prey one last look.  
The clouds overhead gave way and sent torrents of rain falling down on the two. If there is anything a Firedragon is fearful of, it is water, for water is a natural defense against fire, it kills fire. The dragon looked up long enough to feel the stinging sensation of rain on his face and eyes before flying away, leaving Archer alone near the now swelling river.  
Pain burned him from all over his body as he pulled himself to his feet. He knew he had to keep clear of the swelling river, or he would drown to death in its waters. He gasped as his feet failed him and he fell back to the ground. The water was now surrounding him and though it was not more than an inch deep where he was, it was threatening to pull him to his death. He reached out and sank a clawed hand into dry dirt and pulled. The pain in his side grew to the point he could not breathe as he slowly crawled away from the river's banks. He stopped only once he was a safe distance from the water. Once there, he lost consciousness.  
  
  
  
CHAPTER XXV  
  
"So, how long have you been in Fetare?" Though he asked the question, Cyrius was too busy taking in his surroundings to hear the answer.   
Hunter had shown him around the Pearl lake, which was also commonly referred to as the Moonlit Lake, and had given him a tour of the neighboring Moonlit Forest. Now they were nearing an area on the island inhabited by several small volcanoes and thermal vents. The area was sunken in below sea level and rested in a large valley, this acted as protection to the rest of the island, should the volcanoes decide to erupt.  
"This island is one of the few areas rich in the various world wide cultures. Many of the inhabitants have come to terms and get along well, but there are a few that come to do damage. That is where my group comes in. I am a member of the Ranger Peacekeeper corp." Hunter stopped and waited for the Draconian to catch up. "There are about a hundred full time officers, fifty part time officers, and two hundred support officers from other groups. Our job is fairly simple, stop trouble. If it has taught me anything at all, it is that one should always wear armor, you never know what to expect."  
Cyrius nodded and let his eyes roam the rock walls of a cliff. The cliff itself was resting near to a thermal vent and sulfur crystal formations could be seen on several of the cliff's ledges and rocky surfaces. "Those walls are ideal spots for a Firedragon den."  
"Lucky for us there are only two. Both reside in that wall you are looking at. They are a fairly nice couple."  
Cyrius nodded. "So, tell me a bit about yourself."  
"Well, I have lived in Fetare for my entire life, though I frequently visit Fallaci. My family died when I was young, my brother and I are the only two VonBuraces left. We have both dedicated our lives to the Ranger Corps and are very happy with our jobs. Life here can be rough, though. Every now and then we get some bug and the forces from the west, flood the island. I have seen many friends come and go during the black ages. It is also during that time that the Rangers lose most of their forces."  
"I am sorry to hear that."  
Hunter just nodded. "You will find that most everyone here has a hard past, but most of us have come to terms with it and have forgiven ourselves. It is better that than to allow it to haunt us."  
"My past is too unforgivable." Cyrius shook his head. "I do not think I will ever be able to forgive myself to what I have done."  
"Well, just don't punish yourself too hard. You made the right choice in searching out the right side, now realize you do not have to live with your past."  
"Some day perhaps, when everything settles down for me." Cyrius stopped. Something was not right, he felt watched. "Do you feel like something is here, watching us?"  
Hunter glanced about. "It is probably the Firedragons from the cliff."  
"No, it is closer." Cyrius turned suddenly and studied all of his surroundings intently. The only thing near them was a large rock formation, and the only things dwelling in it were shadows.  
"Find it?"  
"No, I must be imagining things. Lead on, show me around town, if you do not mind."  
"Not at all, Cyrius, it would be a pleasure."  
  
It watched the two leave. Silent wisps of breath escaped it as it tried to find the one it was sent to hunt. Something finally told it that the larger one was the target it sought. A silent laugh emanated from within it. You are mine, but it is not yet time. Then, without a sound the shadow followed the two.   
  
CHAPTER XXVI  
  
Archer woke suddenly and found himself in a large room and resting on a wooden frame bed. He was about to get up and explore his surroundings, but as he rose a quick jolt of pain ran through him, forcing him to lie down again.  
"You really ought to stay on the trails when you travel."   
"The wraiths came with the armies in search of easy prey."  
Archer recognized the first voice but could not place it, the second one he knew was Flare.  
"You are just lucky you were attacked in an open field, I would not have seen you had you collapsed in the forest." Flare walked into his view and sat down in a chair next to the bed. "You really ought to be more careful."  
"Flare was just telling me all about you, Archer, and what happened during your stay. She heard what caused you to go there and was shocked."  
Must be Eleanor, but she would not...or maybe, with Flare's word with mine. "Thank you for caring for me." Archer attempted to bring himself to a sitting position and succeeded. A wave of cold air caused him to fold his wings about his self for warmth. "How long have I been here?"  
"No more than a day. You really are lucky, wraiths usually finish what they start." Flare stood. She was acting strange.  
"How did you know it was a wraith?"  
"I found what was left of him. That dragon saved your life." Flare chuckled nervously as she spoke.  
Archer nodded and glanced over at Eleanor. She just turned and busied herself with something. "What's wrong?" He shot a questioning glance over at Flare. "You both seem to be acting strangely towards me. Why?"  
"Archer, you were speaking in your sleep." Eleanor turned towards him, wringing her hands as she spoke. This was not like her from what Archer knew of her.  
"And what did I say?"  
"Well, it is not so much what you said, but how it was spoken." Flare sat back down near the bed again. "Actually, it is a little of both."  
"You were reciting songs my mother used to sing to me when I was young. She also sang them whenever she felt lonely while my father was away at the warfronts."  
"Perhaps I read them in the journals and was just mumbling what I read."  
Eleanor shook her head. "The songs were Elven, sung in the Elven tongue."  
Archer gave her a puzzled look. "Maybe I have heard them before."  
"They were my mother's creations. To have heard them before means you were here fifteen years ago."  
"That is impossible, I served at the fortifications at that time. I never left there."  
"Then you heard them before then, fifteen years ago she stopped singing them."   
Eleanor began humming a soft tune. Archer listened to it for a moment, it seemed vaguely familiar. He tried to play it in his mind as she hummed it and found he knew it. He hummed along. Soon a single word came to mind; then a phrase.  
"Triluen nacet et nutum paec en et feurl." He pondered the words. "Did I just invent that, or have I heard it before?"  
"That was a piece of my mother's song you spoke. Even though you deny it, you know the songs mother sang. That means something, I just need to think about it." Eleanor left the room.  
"Archer, you are seeking something that not everyone is ready to find. Be ready for disappointment should things not go as you wish. The truths you could bring might be disastrous for more than you know. Be careful." Flare stood. "Do not let what I have just said turn you from your goal. Personally, I think you have come to the right place to begin."  
"Flare," Archer stood, painfully of course, and began to walk about the room just to stretch his legs. "Be truthful, did you watch me be attacked?"  
Flare nodded. "I just was not sure it was you until the wraith had wounded you."  
"But still you did not help?"  
"I am sorry, Archer, I was being hunted. Slayers were about, and I saw the Firedragon coming and knew he would go for the wraith."  
"How did you know he would leave me." He stopped walking and stood with a hand on the back of a chair.  
Flare shook her head. "I just hoped he would." She let the silence hang for a moment. "Archer, I am leaving again, fare well." She left.  
  
CHAPTER XXVII  
  
Cyrius stretched out under a tree in the small rain forest area of the island. Things could not have gone better. It was nearing nightfall and nothing had come to give him problems. Thinking the events of the past few days over he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.  
He found himself dreaming of a large lake in the middle of a forest. The light had suddenly gone out all around him, and rain poured down from the dark clouds above. Though the lake was large, the water was shallow, not rising above his ankles. All around him, creatures and people were seeking shelter from the rain, he did the opposite and made his way to a large clearing in the forest. The lake stretched here, aided by the rain, and he soon found himself having trouble walking through the water. Now the water was over two feet deep, and rising. Rain fell in sheets, blinding him from everything more than two feet in front of him. Then it was gone. The rains stopped. All that remained were the shadows of the forests. He gazed at them shortly before one particular shadow caught his eye.  
It had no shape, at least none he could tell, and it belonged to nothing. A chill wind swept through the trees, stirring all but that shadow. Cyrius shivered. The shadow moved into the clearing and a low rumble, almost like thunder, began to shake the area. The thunder was followed by a loud crack that jolted Cyrius from his dream.  
Like in his dream, rain had fallen and water had gathered to an inch deep, but nothing more. The sound that had awoken him had come from a bolt of lightning that had struck a tree near to where he was sleeping, the charred remains left behind as telltale evidence. He stood slowly and felt something fall near him, splashing in the water. Curious, he kneeled to find what it was. Resting in the water was a red, octahedral crystal. Cyrius picked the crystal up and examined it. He immediately recognized it. But...how?  
How indeed, Nightstalker.  
Cyrius jumped, dropping the crystal back to the ground. "Who said that?"  
No one you would not know, Nightstalker.  
He drew his blade and searched his surroundings. "Pyre!" Then more hopefully. "Archer?"  
Perhaps, Nightstalker, but do remember, the latter of those two knew not your past name, and what are the chances of the former being here? Think about it, you know me.  
Cyrius hissed loudly. "Show yourself, maybe I will be kind."  
Do not tempt me.  
Cyrius began to look for the fastest route to a nearby tavern.  
Leaving, so soon? Yes, lead me to a place that is more than likely well populated. See how things go from there.  
"Try to keep up with me." Cyrius ran.  
Over fallen logs, through bush, around tree, he ran until the lights of the tavern were visible. Once they were, he sprinted until he reached the door.  
Already here, Nightstalker.  
Cyrius turned, his back up against the wooden door. "Who are you?" Silence. "Well, answer me! Who are you?" A thought came upon him. He opened his wings and flew onto the tavern's flat roof. No one was there. "Why do you hide? Nothing more than a coward hides while torturing its prey!"  
Coward? I will show you a coward. Soon you will know true fear.  
A low rumble, much like a laugh filled the air and faded.  
"Well? I am waiting." Cyrius looked around but saw nothing. Whoever it was had gone. He snorted and jumped back to the ground. "Fear. I do not fear you."  
You will.  
Cyrius hissed and walked into the tavern, closing the door securely behind him. He found a seat, fell into it, and threw the hood of his cloak back. "Barkeep, something cold." He rested his head on the table and closed his eyes, waiting for the drink to come.  
"Rough day?"  
Cyrius looked up. Standing near the table and holding a glass of ice water was Saren. He looked around and recognized his surroundings. He was back in the Quiet Tavern. He looked back up at Saren and gave a small nod.  
"Here, drink up, it beats some of the other drinks."  
"Thanks."  
"No problem." She grinned and went back to the bar.  
Cyrius took a quick drink and thought back on what had happened. Fear? Fear what? Who was it that I know? He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Who...someone from the past? Who should I fear in my past? Pyre is out of my life, Archer is a friend. Whoever it was called me Nightstalker. All who know me by that would be in the war right now, not here. He let out a sigh. Think Cyrius, think! Who?  
Nightstalker, you are closer than you think. Think hard. You know me.  
Cyrius hissed. "You do not scare me." He spoke in a whisper. He glanced back at Saren. She was cleaning some glasses at the counter, seemingly not paying any attention to him.  
That is not my intent right now. Think hard. I come from your past. The past. I am not a 'who,' but a 'what.'  
"My past?" Cyrius sat forward. It was obviously not Saren speaking.  
The past, in the past, of the past. Perhaps a haunting past. Think about it. What do you fear the most? That is the answer.  
Cyrius jumped up, startling Saren.  
"Cyrius, are you alright?"  
"Yeah, I am just fine. Thank you. Was someone else in here?"  
"When?" She came out from behind the bar.  
"Now."  
Saren shook her head. "Are you positive you are alright?"  
"Did you hear me talking?"  
"No, you were sleeping. I was not paying any attention to you."  
Cyrius gave her a puzzled look. "How do you know I was sleeping?"  
She chuckled. "You snore."  
Cyrius relaxed slightly and laughed a bit. "That's good."  
  
CHAPTER XXVIII  
  
Archer was having troubles not jumping to conclusions concerning Flare's behavior, paranoia being the only logical one he could think of. To keep his mind off the subject, he took small, unguided tours around the Callystrin dwelling. He had not seen much of Eleanor, and when he did, she always hurried off to busy herself elsewhere. His latest adventure through the unknown halls found him in an art room, similar to the one Flare had shown to him. How long ago was that? Archer had trouble believing it was over a week ago. Time seemed to be moving fast for him and he could hardly keep up. With Cyrius gone, and no one to keep him company he had begun to lose track of things.  
In the midst of this confusion, a curious thing had happened. While exploring the art room, he had come upon a painting. It portrayed a lake, silver from a large moon overhead and surrounded on all sides by a large grass clearing, also glowing a faint silver. Around the clearing on three sides was a large forest, the fourth side being occupied by a large cliff with a waterfall that fed directly into the lake. The scene was all so familiar to him and it puzzled him for the rest of the day until he recalled why. Just before the siege of Flare's home, and Flame's death, he had seen a painting portraying the very same scene, but during the day. It was titled "Pearl Lake fed by Blue Falls." Upon remembering this he made his way back to the art room and looked for a name on the painting. He grinned when he read "Pearl Lake fed by Blue Falls at night." He chuckled as he read it but then became puzzled. Under that was the word "Fetare." He was certain Flare's painting did not have that on it, and he went back to his room tired, confused, and deep in thought.  
"Archer?" Eleanor called from somewhere in the hall.  
Archer turned from the paintings. "My room."  
She came in with a folded cloak in her arms. "I mended to cloak where it was torn, and I got the blood out of it. Not an easy task."  
"Thank you." He pointed towards the 'Pearl Lake' picture. "I have a question about that particular painting."  
"Oh, my sister did that one for me and sent it to me."  
"Where is Fetare?"  
She hesitated. "That is where my sister lives."  
"Ah, I see. Would you mind telling me where I might find it?"  
She answered with a nod.  
"Please, why won't you?" She did not answer. "Do you not trust me?" No answer. "Why not."  
"You are a Draconian. I am not sure if you noticed or not, no one trusts a Draconian."  
"I do. Cyrius, right now he is traveling. Flare trusts two. Lady Gilldomere did, until the Tryst'n forts were laid under siege; I am sure she still would to this day had they not been."  
"But I do not trust you."  
"Give me one logical reason why."  
"You killed my parents!"  
"Then kill me!" Archer knew he was losing control of himself. He did not even cringe as she picked up a dagger and pointed it at him. "I regret what I did. You seem to forget why I was coming here. One of them, your mother, knew me and I have never seen her before. She even gave me a gift before she died." He paused. "Those two could very well be my parents also. You are preventing me from finding them."  
Eleanor held the dagger tight in her hand, still keeping the blade pointed at Archer's chest. Everything Archer could see in her told him she was thinking, and that she would take one of two courses, one leading to his death. Then, with a cry of frustration, she walked out, driving the dagger into the wooden frame of a picture as she walked by it.  
  
CHAPTER XXVIV  
  
"Good morning, Cyrius."  
The sound of a voice so near to him jolted Cyrius out of a light sleep. Standing over the couch in the tavern was Hunter. In the background, he could make out two other forms moving about. One he knew was Saren, but the other was unidentifiable until his eyes focused correctly.  
"Slept well?"  
Cyrius snorted and rolled into a sitting position. "Who's here?"  
Hunter looked behind him. "Saren, and my brother, Allan."  
"You never told me you had a brother." Cyrius stood.  
"Maybe I did and you fail to remember."  
Cyrius walked across the room and introduced himself to Allan, who in turn introduced himself as the Viper.  
"Well, it started with a search for one of the Rangers' most wanted with my brother and two others." He explained. "It is a rather long story, I shall have to tell you it later." He turned to face the bar and picked something up. "But for now, you need to wake up!" With that he emptied an entire pitcher of ice water on Cyrius' head and went off laughing.  
"Forgive Vipe, he is a bit on the wild side, always trying to pull jokes on the unsuspecting, or just trying to be obnoxious."  
"I see." Cyrius, now fully awake, faked an annoyed laugh. "So, Hunter, any ideas on what it may have been?"  
"What's that? Oh, well I personally believe you were dreaming. Perhaps you ate something that disagreed with you."  
"Well, that still does not answer my question."  
Hunter shrugged. "It was only a dream, Cyrius, get over it."  
Cyrius nodded. "So, Viper, how long are you here?"  
"Well, the annual Ranger Officer Corp meeting is in a few days, and it is usually held in this area. We are choosing new members. Once the meeting is over I plan to stay a week more, and than I will probably go back to the South. A large island of ice is threatening to hit the coast there and could cause trouble."  
Cyrius nodded and went to find something to drink. "Just out of curiosity, is there an admissions price?"  
"Yes, one year as an apprentice with one of the higher officers, during that time you are only sent out on calls when your teacher sees fit."  
"Well, I was just wondering. Now if you do not mind I am going to step out for a while."  
"Well, I guess I will see you later."  
"Yes, have a nice day Viper, a pleasure meeting you."  
  
The air was warm, there was no wind, but the sky was overcast. Storm clouds hung dormant over Fetare, threatening to break loose. Still, the day seemed pleasant enough, and with whatever it had been tormenting him gone, things were looking on the upside. He began to hum to himself.  
Nightstalker.  
It was not even a whisper, and Cyrius almost wanted to believe it was the wind. He ignored it.  
Nightstalker.  
Cyrius jumped a small creek.  
Now you know fear.  
He heard a soft whistle from over his head and looked up in time to see a thick tree branch fall to the ground, cut free by something sharp.  
Fear, Nightstalker. That is the feeling you thought you did not have. Remember?  
"How could I forget." He drew a blade. Something laughed at him.  
See fear in its true form.  
Then Cyrius saw it. A large shadow seemed to appear from nowhere in front of him. It held no more than the rough shape of a figure and wielded on one hand a scimitar that was tinted red.  
Fear, Nightstalker. Fear the past, for it is the only thing that haunts you now.  
Cyrius raised his blade. "Fear skill, beast."  
  
CHAPTER XXX  
  
The Callystrin den had been silent all day. Archer had been awake and doing his usual exploring, but had seen no sign of Eleanor. Once he was done, and confident he had seen the entire den, he became bored and wandered about aimlessly, searching for something to do. It was by doing this that he found the note. It had been pinned to the table in the main hall by a dagger. Archer pulled the dagger out and read it.  
  
"Archer, the island you seek can be found in two ways. I am led to believe that you are capable of flight, but this is not only the most trying way it is also risky and could cost you your life. However, if you prefer this way then here is what you must do. Go to the seaside town of Frugelia, to the west. Once there, fly west until you see land. This island is known as Fallaci, and is not Fetare, however Fetare is the island on the horizon. I recommend resting a while before you go to Fetare. If this route does not suit you, walk west, southwest until you arrive at the sea. Then seek the Inland Harbor. There you can find trade ships and other vessels going to the location you seek. Though this is an easier method, it can be costly. Do take care, and I hope you find what you seek. Signed, Eleanor Callystrin."  
  
Archer read it over twice and laughed to himself. "Fetare, here I come."  
  
He went about and gathered what all was his in the Callystrin den before going back to the one he had come to call home to fetch a few more personal belongings. Then, armed with his blades, cloak, bow and arrows, and a sturdy staff he set out to find Inland Harbor.  
  
CHAPTER XXXI  
  
Cyrius ducked and ran as the blade whistled over his head again. He would have knocked himself upside the head for underestimating whatever it was if he was not being chased by it. CRACK. He rolled out of the way as a small tree fell in his path. When he got up, he was facing the beast. He held his blade ready as the shadow approached him, the red blade now glowing bright.  
Nightstalker, if only you knew how. I have something to show you.  
Cyrius watched as a red crystal, octahedron, appeared in the beasts free hand.  
You remember this, right? It was a gift. You used it to fulfil a personal vendetta, against one who wants you dead. He killed a friend of yours. You did nothing.  
"There was nothing I could do." Cyrius gritted his teeth and prepared himself for an attack. "You may not lie, but you use only truths that harm."  
Do I?  
Cyrius charged, rolled and swung his blade. A soft clink and a slight vibration in his blade told him he hit something and he grinned as he saw the red crystal land some distance away from the two of them. The beast roared and swung the fiery blade down. Cyrius rolled out of the way and the beast's blade met the ground and stuck. Cyrius took advantage of the distraction and went for the crystal.  
You cannot defeat me, Cyrius. I am stronger than you are. I am Coldstone!  
Cyrius stood and held the crystal. "You may be Coldstone," he put the crystal in the left breast pocket of his cloak. "but you are not stronger."  
Give that back.  
Cyrius started to say something, but a few realizations came to mind. Coldstone had referred to him as Cyrius, not Nightstalker, and the frightful shadow-like appearance was fading, a solid form was beginning to take shape.  
Give me the crystal, Cyrius.  
Cyrius raised his blade. "No. I do not have to give you anything. You no longer scare me."  
GIVE IT BACK!  
"My past is done and gone. There is nothing I can do about it now other than forgive myself."  
Cyrius, think about what you are saying. Flare is gone, run away from you; and Flame is dead.  
"Flame would have died even if I had been at his side. Flare did not run from me, she ran from you. Face it, Coldstone, the past has no hold on me anymore."  
No.  
Cyrius grinned and charged, swinging his blade at mid-level. Coldstone blocked it with a now colorless steel blade. Cyrius swung overhead and Coldstone blocked yet again, but the blade broke. Now he was left open to attack. Cyrius ran his blade through where the heart should have been. He felt the crystal in his cloak pocket heat up and shatter. Coldstone let out a roar and vanished.  
"Fear truth."   
Cyrius sheathed his blade and reached into the cloak pocket. The crystal had shattered into about two dozen pieces. Cyrius just let them filter through his fingers and fall onto the ground. Then he kneeled to examine them, chose the largest piece, no more than an inch long, and placed it back in his pocket, for the memories not of Coldstone, but of his times in the company of Flame and Flare.  



	4. Part Four

"Part of choosing a new path is learning not to dwell on old memories."  
-Cyrius Centrelli  
  
PART FOUR  
CHAPTER XXXII  
  
Archer leaned against one of the wooden rails of the boat as he silently urged the vessel to move faster. The voyage was a bit costly, and long, the ship having gone to three ports along the side of the Mirkilains before actually starting to go out towards Fallaci. Now things were underway and Fetare was beginning to dominate Archer's thoughts. He began to think of the day and night paintings of the Blue Falls and stretched his imagination beyond the paintings. He visualized an almost never-ending expanse of forest, stretching onward until it reached the water's edge. Peeking over the treetops every now and then were small towns, each full of people working.  
Someone ran into him hard and broke the image. He glanced around quickly for whoever it may have been and saw a green cap with a single red leather strap disappear down one of the hatches. It took him a while to remember that the hat belonged to one of the crewmen. He shrugged it off and turned towards the sea. Once he was facing the water, he became aware of another figure in the corner of his eye. He tried to study it without letting the person notice. From what he could tell the figure was clad in a brown greatcoat, leather armor underneath. The figure was sitting and in his lap was a rusted broadsword. It was at this point in his observations Archer realized the figure was staring directly at him.  
He wanted to pull the hood of his cloak over his head, but then he would not be able to see the person watching him. Not thinking of anything better, he began to make his way towards the bow of the boat. He heard footsteps behind him. Archer pulled the hood over his head and quickened his pace until he had reached the fore most point of the deck, near the pulpit in the bow. The footsteps continued softly for a moment and then stopped. Archer turned and looked behind him. No one was there.  
The bow of the boat picked up and dropped suddenly as a series of large swells drifted by. Spray flew over the side railings and stung his face. Most of what came his way soaked into his cloak, making the air around him chill. Archer ignored it all and searched for whoever had followed him. The only people on deck were crewmen, none of them carried more than a dagger and all wore light clothing, no coats. Archer growled to himself and tuned to hold onto the bow railings as another set of swells rolled under the boat. In front of him was a black metal, crooked dagger that was pinning a piece of paper to the wooden rail. He tore the paper from the dagger and read it.  
I remember you. See if you remember me. Find me first, if you can. If you do not find me on the boat, I will find you in Fetare.  
He looked behind him and saw nothing. Then looked up. Tied to one of the standing ropes was a white cloth with red writing on it. He climbed unsteadily up to it and untied the cloth. The writing was in blood and said: I already found Flame, and later Flare. You and your friend cannot hide from me.  
A chill ran down his spine as he let the cloth fly in the wind down to the water. He dropped down to the deck, landing hard as a breaking wave under the bow sent the boat rising up to meet him. He took the dagger that was embedded in the ship's rail and went in to the nearest hatch.   
The hall that stretched before him creaked loudly with the ship's rocking as he made his way down it. He could hear the water hit the thick hull as the hall rocked up and down and side to side. It was too much for him. His mind did not agree with the surroundings and began to play tricks on his eyes. Shadows fell and lights darkened, blacking out the path before him so he could not see more than a few feet in front of him. Each wooden door he passed had voices behind it, laughing. He had to constantly tell himself the sounds were only the ship's creaking, and the lights had not dimmed. Still he could not see down the dark hallway. He suddenly became short of breath and had to stop. His mind told him the oxygen in the hall was gone, used up by everyone who had entered it before him. He had to find a way out.   
He saw a pinpoint of light behind him, where he had entered this nightmare, and began to run towards it. Each time the boat rocked, he lost his balance and stumbled. His mind would scream at him, warn him about the lack of oxygen and tell him not to stop until he picked himself back up and began to run again. It took him longer to reach the hatch than he had expected. Once he could, he pulled himself out and onto the ship's deck. Gasping for air he turned and looked down the hallway he had just left. It was brightly lit and he could see clearly down it until it turned about twenty feet away. He turned from the hatch and saw another note, pinned by a simple dagger.  
Scared yet? Give me back my dagger.  
He held the crooked dagger in front of him and stared at it. Then he read the note again and without a second thought threw the dagger into the hallway as far as he could. Then he watched, stunned and unable to move, as a figure, hidden by shadows and a brown greatcoat, picked up the dagger, saluted, and disappeared down the hall.  
  
CHAPTER XXXIII  
  
Cyrius watched from the cliffs as a trade ship made its way into Fetare Harbor and docked. He could see several tiny specks swarm the decks, moving small boxes about. Only two seemed to not be doing anything, one of them was lost from view almost as soon as it left the boat, the other lingered about the docks. Curious, Cyrius glided towards the docks. The figures began to take shape as he drew closer to them, and now Cyrius could see the figure he had been watching was wearing a gray cloak, it was also significantly taller than the rest. He landed on the far side of the dock, drew his blue cloak tight about him, and picked his way through the crowded dock.  
  
Archer groaned. Fetare was not what he had been expecting, and now he had Pyre to worry about as well. He had tried to find him after the boat had docked but.... He glanced down the dock. Someone was heading towards him, clad in a dark blue cloak. Archer grinned.  
"Archer!" The cloaked figure waved.  
"Cyrius. How have you been?"  
"Fairly well, what are you doing here?"  
"I should ask you that. How did you find this place?"  
"Remember Tryst'n? The map room had this island listed."  
"Cyrius, we have trouble." Archer glanced around. "Show me around and I'll tell you about it."  
Cyrius nodded and began walking towards the Port Town.  
"Pyre is here. I saw him on the trade ship. He killed Flare."  
Cyrius hissed. "Finding him on the island will be hard."  
"No, it will not. He will find us. Show me about the island, will you? I am anxious to see if this Fetare is all I have heard it to be." He glanced behind him nervously before urging Cyrius on.  
  
Pyre watched the two leave from the tavern window. He chuckled silently. Archer, Fetare will never be what you expected. He stood and left the tavern. Not as long as I am here.  
He made his way down a dirt road to a small warehouse and slipped in through one of the open doors.  
"Old friends, I return." He called out into the darkness. Four pairs of eyes lit up and turned to face his direction.  
"So, the leader returns." A voice in the darkness commented, almost in a sarcastic manner.  
"I told you I would not leave you here." Pyre's response was crisp.  
One of the pairs of eyes approached the light, becoming a Bozak wielding a sharp blade. "Look around you, Pyre, we are all that is left, plus a few hiding elsewhere. I can count out our numbers with a single hand."  
Pyre stepped towards the Bozak. "But I am back, and a new challenge comes with me. A Sivak and a Bozak, both traitors."  
"We will not take orders from you anymore, Pyre." Blaze rasped.  
"Speak for yourself, Blaze. The rest of us are quite ready to follow him."  
Blaze turned and hissed at the unseen speaker.  
"You see," Pyre took a step towards the Bozak. "Blaze, they still wish to follow me. You have a single chance to change your mind."  
There was a flash and the Bozak fell to the ground, clutching a gash in his stomach. Pyre laughed and pointed his scimitar down at Blaze's throat. "Oh, too late."  
"You will die here, Pyre. I guarantee that."  
Pyre wiped his blade clean and sheathed it. "Kill him." He turned and found a high perch to watch the execution while planning for the task that was ahead.  
  
CHAPTER XXXIV  
  
Pyre drew the hood of his gray cloak further over his head. There was no need for anyone to be able to doubt what was happening. At his side was a silver blade. He had stolen it from Flare after she died, and now it was about to betray the reasons for which it had been made. The only flaw he saw with his plan was in that his eyes were not amber, but that was a minor detail nobody would bother to notice.  
In spite of the confidence he held in his plan, there were always a few small doubts that slowed his pace, but then, when he told himself that they could only happen in worse case scenarios, he would increase his pace to a near jog. Then another doubt would fall like a shadow and he would stop to think it through. By the time he reached the tavern, he had already thought through twenty scenarios, all of them having something extreme go wrong. As he pushed the door open and entered the smoke filled room, he hoped he was ready.  
The silence that accompanied his entrance was so great he could hear his claws clack against the wooden floorboards. He almost wanted to laugh, but fear of having someone use his voice to identify him was too great. Instead, he grinned as he slowly slipped a hand under his cloak towards the sheathed blade while he approached his first victim.  
There was a flash, and a shout as the first fell, leaving Pyre in the center of the tavern, his bloodstained blade drawn and ready, while he searched out others. The sound of steel sliding from sheath could be heard ringing from several spots in the tavern, and Pyre prepared himself for a fight.  
The first attack came from the front and high. Pyre sidestepped and caught his attacker under the ribs with his own blade, taking him out of the fight for good. The second fell to a ducking jab to the chest, and a third dropped to the ground as Pyre pulled his talons from the man's stomach. Everything was going well.  
"Sivak. Fight me, I dare ye."  
Pyre turned and faced the challenger. Before him stood a tall, strong looking knight, a broadsword drawn and ready in his hand. The knight had locked his own brown eyes directly on Pyre's blood red. Pyre just nodded and attacked.  
The knight was fast and a formidable opponent, but Pyre knew he would win. Even though the knight was skilled, he was falling back step by step. After a brief defensive, Pyre caught the knight in the side with his blade. The knight doubled over and Pyre slammed the flat of his blade against the side of the knight's head. The knight fell to the ground and did not get back up.   
Pyre turned. One more blade waited for him. This one belonged to a lady standing just over five feet, and had green eyes, both of which were piercing Pyre's own. The lady just grinned.  
"If you will, beast. I will take you on." Pyre hissed as she spoke. "You have four seconds to defend yourself, otherwise leave ere I cut you in two." He swallowed the words as he spoke. A faint recognition of who he faced entered into his mind.  
Pyre charged suddenly and shoved her to the ground. Then he swung out at one last person, wounding a woman who had been at a table with her husband, and ran out the door.  
Alyse groaned and picked herself up off the ground. "Someone look to the wounded, I'll get help."  
  
Hunter stretched and stood, casually glancing out of the window of the tavern. He cast a look over at his brother, who was sleeping soundly on a couch in one corner of the empty room, and chuckled. Things were quiet to day, and he liked it like that.  
A sharp knock on the door made him jump. "You know, this is a public tavern, you can enter."  
"Sorry, I forgot." A woman entered, out of breath.  
Hunter looked the newcomer over. She was a little over five feet, green eyes, and dark hair.  
"We need help down at the Crystal Lakes Tavern. Some Draconian made a mess." Alyse stepped toward Hunter, leaving the door open.  
"Do you know who it was?"  
She shook her head. "No, someone new. I have never seen him before."  
Hunter shouted at Viper to wake him up while he began fastening his belt and sword. "Come on, show us the way."  
She nodded, turned and ran into Archer. She screamed something, drew her blade and attacked him. Archer jumped back out of the way of the deadly steel and continued to retreat while Hunter tried to assure her everything was all right. Cyrius' belated entrance helped very little. Archer turned to Cyrius to say something and felt something sting his face. He turned back to the crazed woman and stared her directly in the eyes. She stared at him a moment before she lowered the blade.  
"Oh, I am so sorry. I thought it was him." She dropped the sword and fell to her knees. "You looked just like him, only he had these red eyes, almost like blood."  
Cyrius leaned towards Archer. "Pyre."  
Archer nodded and checked the side of his face. A small cut ran a few inches across one cheek, nothing much. "Well, what happened?"  
Hunter helped Alyse up while he answered. "He raided a tavern and started a small fight."  
"Who did?" Viper came up alongside his brother.  
"Pyre." Cyrius turned to walk out. "Where did this happen?"  
"The Crystal Lakes Tavern." Hunter answered.  
"I'll meet you there. Archer, come with me." He stepped out of the door and came up alongside of Cyrius. We have some hunting to do.  
Cyrius nodded in agreement.  
  
Pyre found a spot in a tree to hide out for a short while. His mind was yelling at him.   
Of all of the problems to prepare for, why did you miss that one! He hissed and dug his talons into the tree limb. I did not know she would be there! Of all of the places. He looked over his shoulder towards the tavern. "Fete nac therun dacht!" He tried to calm himself down. They are haunting you. The Callystrin family can never die. It seems to be that way. Another! And when she dies, I am certain yet another will come to take her place.   
He snarled.   
They have been haunting you all your life. You should have known you could not kill them all. At the fronts, they were feared by your troops. When that pitiful attack was made a while ago, you were shocked it was successful, but how successful was it really? Look, he glanced back over his shoulder, yet another lives, and she is stronger than you are.   
He drew a dagger and drove it into the tree. "I know! Stop reminding me. Besides, she is not stronger than I am, she is just stronger than I thought she would be." He glanced around to make sure no one had heard and that the area was clear before jumping to the ground.   
There is only one solution. Fight to the death. See her dead. Remember, she is the last of the four offspring.   
He growled. Not quite, her brother, the Draconian, we cannot be sure what has happened to him.  
"Oh, he is dead. Remember, he never returned from the raid on his own family. So what? That means nothing. For all I know he is...." A chill fell over him.   
Oh, yet another one found. And he is here, and he is hunting you as we speak. And let us not forget who is with him. Your former friend, Nightstalker.   
"It can't be. Not him, not here!"   
Do not forget, you just set his sister against him.   
Pyre relaxed.   
But that is if she is not able to pick the two of you apart. What makes you think she will not be able to tell her own brother from you? Run, before he finds you. Have no doubts that he will kill you.  
Pyre was getting nervous and he could not stand it. He took off running.  
  
CHAPTER XXXV  
  
Cyrius drew his blade and hissed softly. Pyre was near, he knew it. The Sivak's scent was lingering in the area. He turned to the other three.  
"We need to find him before he attacks again, or finds a hole to hide away in. Archer, you take the Moonlit Lake. Hunter, you stay and look about in this area. Viper, you go to the cliffs. I will check the Crystal Falls. He can't have gone far."  
Hunter and Viper nodded and left to go about their search, leaving the two friends alone.  
"Cyrius, I can't help but think you've separated them but left us close together on purpose."  
"Archer, if he wants the two of us dead, he will strike while we are separated. Our areas are separate enough, but we must remain within earshot of each other, just in case."  
Archer nodded and looked up. Rain clouds were gathering on the horizon and moving towards the island fast. Combined with a cold wind that was coming from the west, and the sun slowly disappearing behind the clouds, the effect was chilling as the two made there way to the Moonlit Lake.  
"Archer, I never told you before that I enjoy being in your company." Cyrius pulled his cloak tighter about him and pulled the hood back before continuing. "You are one of the few that I consider to be a true friend."  
Archer looked over at him. "And Hunter and Viper?"  
"They are friends, but I am still getting used to them." Cyrius let out a deep breath that became immediately visible inches in front of his face. "It is getting colder."  
Archer noted a slight look of concern on his comrade's face. "What is so odd about cold weather?"  
"This is very unlike the weather, to grow so cold so fast. Something is happening." Cyrius was silent a moment. "Archer, did you ever find what you were looking for?"  
Archer shook his head. "That is why I came here."  
Cyrius drew his hood over his face. "There is another Callystrin on the island."  
A lightning bolt flashed in the distance and the rolling thunder soon followed. Rain began to fall. Archer shivered as the cold water and icy winds hit him. "Who is it?"  
The inquiry went unanswered. Cyrius had stopped walking and was staring at something ahead, his blood red eye narrowed to a thin slit.  
Cyrius drew his blade and looked over at his friend. "Archer, go."  
Archer was puzzled for a moment until he looked ahead and saw what his friend had seen. Standing ten yards in front of them was Pyre, a blade matching Cyrius' drawn and ready.  
"Cyrius, I can help you. We can take him on together."  
"My fight, Archer. I want it to be fair, one on one. Go now." Without another word, Cyrius removed his cloak and began walking to meet his opponent.  
Archer stayed a moment longer, just long enough to see the two warriors take a fighting stance. Then he turned to leave and saw another Draconian, a Baaz, wielding a curved scimitar and beckoning him into a fight. Archer drew his blade and bared his teeth in a snarl. The Baaz just laughed and ran. Archer took off in pursuit, leaving Cyrius and Pyre alone.  
  
Hunter poked around his area for a while, finding nothing, until the wind and rains began. He groaned and closed his greatcoat around him in hopes of keeping some warmth in. But what the coat held in, the rains soon took by soaking into the coat and leaving it thoroughly drenched. With an agitated shout, Hunter removed the coat and cast it aside.  
"So, the Hunter." The voice was raspy and had a slight serpentine sound to it.  
Hunter turned to face whoever was speaking. Before him, with two thin blades drawn, stood a Sivak Draconian challenging the Ranger to a duel. Hunter, being the peacekeeper he was, smiled as he accepted.  
"Hunter, I want you to know I have been looking forward to this moment for a long time." The Draconian's voice was raspy and dry.  
"Yeah?" Hunter drew his broadsword. "Too bad you won't be able to tell anyone about it."  
The Draconian just laughed and raised the two blades. "Let's have at it."  
  
Viper shivered as the cold water and wind stung him. The heavily wooded trail to the lake was dark, and slow going. He had already given up on finding Pyre, guessing that this route was so slow, by the time he was there, Pyre would have left. He sighed.  
From off to his right he heard a branch snap. His senses jumped to alert and he drew a dagger. Something snapped again, only on his left. Whatever it was seemed to be quick, and getting closer. He heard it again, behind him and he turned.  
He heard a soft thump and staggered backwards. Embedded in his chest was the cold metal shaft of an arrow. His hands trembled as he reached up to pull it out. Something slammed into him from behind and pinned him to the ground, the arrow dug in deeper. He would have screamed or shouted something, but the sudden loss of breath prevented it.  
"Tonight, Ranger, you die."  
Viper reached out and his hand closed around his dagger. Out of desperation, he swung it behind him as best he could at the weight on his back. The dagger sunk into flesh and whatever it was shrieked and jumped away.  
Viper pulled himself to his feet and faced his attacker for the first time. Staring back at him, with two crimson eyes glowing like coals, was a Baaz Draconian. A steady hiss was leaking from between tightly clenched teeth as it clutched the wound in its side.  
"Ranger, you will die." The Draconian took a step towards Viper.  
"You first." The words were forced and painful.  
Viper reached down to an ankle sheath and drew a second dagger just as the Draconian began to charge. The Baaz jumped and threw his full weight onto Vipers chest, knocking him to the ground. Then he went to bite down on the Ranger's throat.  
The Draconian suddenly gagged and rolled over. Lodged in his throat was the first dagger; the second had buried itself in his chest. The Draconian stared over at Viper, who was still lying on the ground, and let out a gargled hiss as his crimson eyes dimmed and he died.  
Viper struggled to his feet and began making his way through the woods, knowing only that he would die no matter where he ended up, but he had to end up somewhere other than here.  
  
Archer found himself by the Moonlit lake, facing the Draconian. He raised his blade. Come, come, let us play.  
The Baaz chuckled and began to approach Archer. Time to test your skill, Dragon Knight.  
Archer stood ready and waited. The Baaz circled a few times before attacking. He brought the scimitar down and Archer easily blocked. The Baaz brought the blade down for a mid-level attack that was blocked as well. Archer jumped back and allowed another swing to miss before starting his attack. He brought his blade down on the Draconian's. The Baaz was not prepared for so strong a blow and fell back to the ground. Archer jumped on the opportunity and kicked the Draconian's sword arm just below the wrist. The sword fell to the ground some distance away from the two. The disarmed Baaz now found himself with the tip of a blade pressed against his throat.  
  
Cyrius knew he was outmatched. His strength had gone to defense and he was slowing down. With each new attack Pyre brought, Cyrius' chances for a counter attack slowly ebbed away. He was loosing, and to lose meant death. Cyrius just gritted his teeth and chose to go down fighting.  
Pyre attacked again, bringing his blade about in a wide arc. Steel collided with steel as Cyrius stopped the blade's flight with his own sword. Pyre laughed and spun, producing a dagger that Cyrius had not noticed before, and soon felt dig into his side. Cyrius fell back and hissed.  
You die, Nightstalker! Pyre brought his blade about again, disarming Cyrius.  
Just so you know, beast. The name is Cyrius Centrelli, Cyrius pulled the dagger from his side and held it at ready. And when this ends, you will die. He charged with the dagger.  
Pyre ducked low with his blade and rammed the flat side of it into Cyrius' gut. This did nothing to lessen the force behind the attack. The dagger came down and buried its blade into the left side of Pyre's back. The Sivak roared and pushed up, throwing Cyrius back. He slashed Cyrius across the chest once, before the black Bozak even hit the ground. Then he walked up to the injured Draconian and drove the blade through his left lung. Cyrius shrieked.   
Die slowly, traitor.  
  
Hunter eyed the Sivak and laughed. "No contest. You have no form worth dyeing for, beast."  
The Draconian coughed and spat blood. "I still have a sword, Ranger."  
The Draconian was wounded to the point of certain death within the hour. Blood seeped from a wound in his side, as well as a large gash in his chest, but despite this, the beast refused to surrender.  
Hunter stepped back and lowered his sword. "Last chance to live. Do you take it?"  
The Sivak charged. Hunter brought his sword up and swung hard. He cringed as the flat of the blade met squarely with the Draconians chest and several loud cracks could be heard. The Draconian dropped to the ground clutching his chest and screeching. Hunter kneeled to offer a hand, but the Draconian suddenly grabbed him by the throat and would have strangled him, but Hunter drew a small dagger and rammed it into the beast's chest. The Draconian opened his mouth and screamed as he clutched the dagger. Hunter turned and left the Draconian to die alone.  
  
Archer was staring down at his prisoner, contemplating what to do when he heard the shriek.  
That will be your friend dyeing.  
Archer hissed and delivered a kick across the Baaz's face. Say that again, I dare you.  
The traitor is dead.  
Archer pulled the Draconian to his feet and pressed his face against a tree while he used the Baaz's belt to bind his hands. "Vret a druek cutnek hai. Dea?"  
Lead the way. The Baaz hissed.  
Archer pushed him forward. Move.  
  
Viper fell and let out a shout. He could see his brother ahead, fighting with a Draconian and apparently winning. He pulled himself back to his feet. He was slowly dyeing and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His brother was done now, and leaving. Viper let out a desperate cry, hoping Hunter would hear. His brother stopped and turned.  
"Allan!" Hunter ran through the trees to his brother and caught him as he began to fall. "Oh, no Allan, don't do this to me, please."  
"Hunter," Allan coughed. "I got him just as good as he got me, if not better."  
"Ah, no Allan, not now, not yet." Hunter felt a tear fall down his cheek. "We'll find someone who can help you, come on, lean on me and try to stand." Allan shook his head, but said nothing. "I'll get him, I'll get em all. They will pay, I swear."  
"Good bye, brother."  
Hunter started to say something, but Allan died right there in his arms. A rush of tears came to him and he stayed there, in the rain, and he picked up his brother's body and began the long walk to the Pearl Lake.  
  
  
  
"Cyrius!" Archer shoved the Baaz aside and ran to his fallen friend.  
Cyrius attempted to stand and meet Archer, but fell back down before Archer could reach him.  
"Archer, go. Pyre lives, find him."  
Archer realized why Cyrius wanted him to leave, but he refused. "Cyrius," He suddenly lost what he had wanted to say.  
"Go." The command was no more than a whisper.  
Archer stood and ran back to his prisoner. "You will be the first." He drew a dagger and slit the Draconian's throat. "Die slowly." He looked over his shoulder one last time at Cyrius before leaving the clearing.  
As he was walking he came upon Cyrius' cloak, and he took it and replaced his own with it, folding up the gray one and stowing it in a pouch at his side. Then he turned and began heading towards the Quiet Tavern at Pearl Lake, knowing he would never see his friend again.  
  
CHAPTER XXXVI  
  
Saren looked up as Archer pushed the door open and stumbled in. "Welcome back, Archer. I almost failed to recognize you in that cloak." She came towards him and worry overtook her. Archer was shaking with each step he took and seemed to be going into shock.  
She ran up to him and guided him to the couch. "Archer, what's wrong."  
"Dead." He tried to take control of himself. "Cyrius, he's dead." He rested his head in his hands.  
"Oh, no. What happened to him."  
Archer just shook his head, leaving Saren in silence. She gave the Draconian a hug and stood to go shut the door. Archer looked up and watched her.  
"Tell me, was it Pyre?"  
Archer nodded. "I tried to stay, but he told me not to. He left to fight alone."  
"I am truly sorry..." She looked out the open door. "Hunter?"  
Archer stood and walked towards her. "What?"  
She ran out into the rain and disappeared. A moment later she returned with someone under her arm, it was Hunter. Archer came to help them.  
"What happened?"  
Hunter looked up at him and shook his head. "Viper's dead. I found him, but it was too late. Nothing could be done." Hunter looked around. "Where's Cyrius?"  
"Pyre killed him."  
The room was silent for a moment.  
"Hunter, I do believe there is something to be done." Archer loosened his cloak and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. Rage was slowly replacing grief.  
"It is dangerous. If one of the Rangers found you hunting someone-"  
"Make me a Ranger."  
Hunter shook his head. "It's not that easy. You have to pass an interview, and then someone takes you in as an apprentice for three months."  
Archer grinned. "I'll take the chance. I will not let you hunt alone. If you do not want the trouble, then I hunt alone. You will not get in trouble then, will you?"  
Hunter looked down at the sleeve of his greatcoat. A crimson stain covered most of the brown. "Let's go. Just remember-"  
"Pyre is mine." Archer walked out of the tavern door, leaving the two behind in the tavern. When he had gone ten yards out he turned and yelled back, "Hunter, come on!"  
Hunter turned to Saren. "He would make a good Ranger, he has spirit."  
Saren nodded. "True, but he is uncontrolled. That is dangerous."  
Hunter turned to leave. "I'll do what I can. Though right now we are the same."  
  
CHAPTER XXXVII  
  
Rampage glanced about the tavern, trying to mask his unease. In one dark corner, his eye caught someone waving, motioning him to come. He carefully picked his way through the crowd. Although he was disguised, and although Pyre was in disguise as well, he felt that at any moment the two of them would be found out and killed. Word had spread concerning the death of the Ranger one night ago, and of a friend of the Ranger's brother. A hunt was under way.  
"Rampage," Pyre hissed, "don't be so slow."  
Rampage sat down across from his commander. "You should try to refrain from using names."  
Pyre narrowed his eyes. "Point to the commander."  
The tavern's door opened and a cold breeze swept through the room.  
"Don't look now, but our old friends have arrived. Just stay cool, and if they come, do not say a word." Pyre adjusted the coat he was wearing and hunched over a mug half emptied of its ale.  
"You're not drinking that, are you?" Rampage grinned.  
"I despise the stuff. Too…" he searched for a word, "…human."  
Rampage cracked a nervous smile and glanced over his shoulder. The Ranger was at the far end of the tavern, but his Draconian friend, the traitor, was slowly making his way to their table, searching each person on the way.  
He turned back to Pyre. "What do we do?"  
Pyre thought a moment. "Tell you what, you keep an eye on him. If he looks like he's on to us, turn back around and let me know."  
  
Archer was about to turn and start looking in the middle of the tavern when he saw the two. They were sitting, both facing him. One glared at him, stood, and ran out the back of the tavern. The other, upon hearing his friend's departure, stood to run as well, but Archer was on him. He tackled the man and pinned him to the ground.  
"Listen up. Your life depends on the answer you give." Archer drew a small dagger and pressed it against the man's throat. "Where is Pyre?"  
"I don't know!" The man struggled to break he pin.  
Archer shook his head. "Wrong answer." He picked the man up by the collar and slammed him against a wall. "The people are beginning to wonder about me. Show them who you really are."  
The man shook his head. Archer rammed the dagger into the man's gut. He doubled over and fell to the floor, clutching the wound.   
He let out a hiss. "I wouldn't have done that if I were you."  
"Well, I hate to disappoint you but you're not me." Archer reached to pick the man up again.  
The man pulled the dagger from is wound and lashed out. The tiny blade caught Archer in the leg, and he fell as it collapsed on him. He felt himself get lifted up by the back of his cloak and thrown against the wall. When he looked up, he found himself staring into the face of an angry Draconian.  
Archer chuckled. "Well, now you've done it."  
"Done what?" The Draconian drew a crooked bladed dagger and pressed it against the side of Archer's face. "Well? What have I done?"  
"Forgot about my friend." Archer grinned.  
The Draconian's expression changed completely as he remembered about the Ranger. Hunter came up from behind and slammed the hilt of his blade as hard as he could against the base of the Draconian's skull. The Sivak fell to the ground, grasping his head in pain.  
"Thank you." Archer shook Hunter's hand and knelt by the Draconian. "Now then, I'll try again. Where is Pyre?"  
  
Archer looked up at the massive doors to the warehouse, his blade drawn and ready. Hunter was at his side.  
"I don't like it." Archer shook his head and nervously looked behind him for some stalker that was not there. "It looks too dark, no windows, no light."  
Hunter nodded and ran a hand over the wooden door.  
"You know what else?" Archer crouched, resting the tip of the sword's blade in the dirt, and his head on the sword's hilt. "I'm scared." He looked up at Hunter and laughed uneasily.  
"There is one thing you've overlooked. The doors let in light and we can leave them open."  
Archer shook his head. "That will not help much. Look at the sun, almost right overhead. We'll have light for the first ten feet into the building, after that...." He closed his eyes tightly. "How's your night vision?"  
"Last time I checked was with a full moon."  
"Well, we all have to put ourselves through the extremes sooner or later. Net auten kahele."  
Hunter looked down at him, puzzled. "You lost me there."  
"Face your fear." He stood and gripped the handle on the massive door.  
Hunter watched as the door slid aside to reveal a seemingly endless expanse of nothingness. From some point in the darkness, a pair of blood red points flashed and glowed briefly before disappearing.  
"That'll be Pyre. He is mine. You watch my back." Archer drew his second blade and locked the two together. He held it in the middle by the grip and spun it. "I can't remember the last time I used these two together. Wish me luck." He loosened the dark blue cloak and soon disappeared into the thick darkness.  
Hunter took a few steps into the warehouse, but stopped just as the light from outside ended. He hesitated a moment, even when the sounds of a fight started from somewhere within. He took a step out of the light as a cold sweat broke on his forehead. He could see nothing around him. He felt too open, too vulnerable. He stepped back to where he could see, back by the door, and waited.  
  
Archer ducked instinctively and heard the air over his head stir as a blade swept past. He shifted his weight forward and attacked low. Even though he could not see Pyre entirely, he could see the blood red eyes. That was all he needed. Through communication with his eyes, Pyre gave away when he would attack, and so long as Archer watched the eyes, he could not possibly lose sight of his adversary.  
His attack soon lost momentum, and that meant it was Pyre's turn to counter attack. Archer jumped back, barely missing a blade aimed for his chest, but then had to duck as the second blade swung around at his head. He lost sight of Pyre's eyes. For the first time ever, a true sense of panic fell over him, and he blindly jabbed into the air. Pyre knocked the blade aside. Archer jumped to his feet, detaching the blades as he did so, and attacked again. This time, however, his first attack was a feign, meant to drive Pyre into a trap. He jabbed with his left hand blade, and then turned and brought his right hand blade in a wide arc that cut through the area where it was most probable Pyre would be.  
The blade was deflected and Pyre spun around the blade, bringing his thin stiletto around and driving it straight behind him. He grinned as he felt it dig into something. Archer screamed, but the scream was strained and broken as he fell to the warehouse floor. Pyre pulled the stiletto free and turned his gaze towards the open door.  
  
Hunter strained to see why the fight had suddenly ended. He was growing impatient and tired of standing by the door, yet he could not urge himself to step into the depths of the warehouse. Everything in his mind told him not to. He jumped as he heard a low laugh. It was close by. He brought his blade up.  
"Pyre, I presume." He looked into the darkness. Again two blood red, glowing spots stared out at him. Where was Archer? He began to worry for his friend's well being.  
"Step into my lair."  
Hunter gritted his teeth. "Come into the light, why don't you."  
"I would, but it is a pain to have to let my eyes readjust. Besides, the dark is fun, it adds an extra level of challenge." The eyes blinked. "Oh, I have something for you."  
Something flew out of the darkness and landed in a heap by Hunter's feet. It was the tattered remains of Archer's cloak, and half of it was matted with blood.  
"Your friend, he might need help. It may seem odd, but I actually recommend you enter." The voice was moving to the left. "Don't believe me? Here, just look at what I have."  
There was a glint of metal and a small object landed in the midst of the ruined cloak. Hunter bent down and picked it up. It was a brooch, fashioned into the shape of a dragon. The silver body had two emerald wings spread and flight ready, and two sapphire blue eyes. Hunter looked again at where he thought the eyes had been, but only to find they were gone.  
"I'll give you a choice, Hunter." The voice was behind him.  
Hunter turned and faced the Draconian. "What is it?"  
"You can go rescue your friend, or leave him to die and go after me. Remember, your friend needs help, but I am responsible for your brother's death. Your choice, but remember, revenge is the nature of all that are able to fight back. You did love your brother, did you not?" Pyre laughed and began walking away.  
Hunter turned his gaze from Pyre, to the warehouse, and then back again. Without a second thought, he turned and disappeared into the gaping doors, leaving Pyre to walk away. The laugh echoed within the warehouse walls, and later in Hunter's mind as he began searching for his friend.  
  
CHAPTER XXXVIII  
  
Archer awoke from a dreamless sleep and found himself laid out on the couch in the now familiar Quiet Tavern. The tavern was empty, in its usual way, and after a quick look around he soon found that Saren and himself were the only occupants. He started to sit up, but a sharp pain in the left side of his chest kept him from doing so.  
"Saren, where is Hunter?" He looked over at her. She was busy cleaning glasses and organizing the bar. He asked again. "Saren?"   
She looked up and smiled. "You're up! Good. You slept for a while, I was beginning to worry. Welcome back, though I don't recommend you move about too much."  
"Yes, I realized that too." He rubbed his chest. "Where is Hunter?"  
"Oh, he's off at some annual officer's meeting with the other Ranger commanders." Archer gave her a curious look. "Well," she started, "they are deciding on candidates for apprenticeship. He's trying to get you in."  
"How nice of him." Archer tried to sit up again, only this time he went slower and was successful. "Are you expecting a big crowd?" He gestured towards a stack of freshly cleaned glasses.  
"No, you actually missed the crowd while you were off hunting Pyre. It was busy, the tavern was full. I had to call in a little extra help." She finished drying a glass and set it aside. "Archer, Cyrius told me a lot about himself, but I know near to nothing about you. You wouldn't mind sharing a bit about yourself, would you?"  
"Well, what would you like to know about me?"  
"Well, you could start by telling me where you are from." She came out from behind the bar and pulled a chair up next to the couch.  
"Well, the truth is I don't really know where I'm from. Draconians are, in a sense, homeless until they die. Before we even see our own family we are taken from the nest by thieves."  
"Oh, I see. That seems a bit rough on, well, a lot of people."  
Archer shook his head. "Not as many as you would think. The ones who suffer most are the parents. They never see their hatchling again. If they do it is usually during battle, and one or both end up dead, neither knowing who the other is. The Draconians really could care less.  
"It was a bit different with me, though. I did not care until I raided a dragon's den. Cyrius' battalion, led by Pyre, had chosen our group, and me to head the attack. I never fully understood why me, but never cared to ask. Cyrius' group was set to attack a nearby den as well. The two families were close friends and would come to one another's aide if called upon, without hesitation. The two attacks were set to happen simultaneously, and they did. Cyrius' group was beaten." He paused. "Ours was a complete success. Both Callystrins were killed, Celeste and Stryker.  
"During his battle, Cyrius turned and fought alongside the two dragons. I ordered the two to death, and killed one myself. Before she died, she told me something. She knew who I was, or thought she did. I killed her. Stryker died soon thereafter. I followed some instructions that Celeste had given me. It was this event that led me to turn to the Dragon Knights.  
"Now, some things that I have discovered and investigated lead me to believe that I attacked and killed my own parents. I found some journals, most were in elfin, but a few in basic. In them it tells of one of her four eggs being stolen, the only male. During the theft another was destroyed."  
Silence followed his words and stood for a moment, before Saren broke it. "So what brought you to this place?"  
"I found Eleanor, one of the two surviving Callystrins, she currently lives in the Mirkilains, by the Freterton River, and is caring for the Callystrin home. Her sister, named Alyse, lives in Fetare. She is why I am here."  
"So she could be your sister." She grinned. "I know her."  
  
CHAPTER XXXVIV  
  
Hunter stood and made his way to the front of the conference hall. He focused not on the task ahead of him, but on trying to make his stride and manner purposeful. It was his turn to propose a candidate who would be among a hundred others. Of those, only ten would be picked for apprenticeship and admission into the Rangers. As he approached the front of the hall, he slowed his pace. Now his mind went to telling himself why he was here.  
Remember that he is good enough to rise to the top. Archer is not worthy of becoming a Ranger, the Rangers are honored enough to be able to have him. He turned to face the other officers and the ruling judges who would decide if Archer was eligible or not. He has a better cause than all of the others out there. He grinned crookedly and began.  
"Second Commander Jim Hunter VonBurace, reporting that I have found a highly qualified subject who I find to be more than just merely suitable for apprenticeship under any of the Ranger fields. He is highly skilled, loyal to the cause, and has no trouble taking or giving orders that are wisely thought out. He is capable of assessing a situation and finding a way to overcome all obstacles presented. Personal fears and discomforts do not affect his reliability, or his ability to handle a situation. He is alert, always ready, and brings a certain aura of kindness with him wherever he goes." Hunter paused for a deep breath of fresh air. "There is, however, one problem that he cannot overcome. He is a Sivak Draconian."  
There was a widespread and mixed response from the assembly.  
"Mister VonBurace, Judge Witaker speaking, are you suggesting that we allow one of the most problematic troublemakers known into our ranks?"  
Hunter locked eyes with the judge. "He is not a troublemaker, and he is not problematic. He despises all the Draconians stand for."  
The Judge Witaker tapped a finger against his desk. "If he is not even loyal to his own kind, what makes you think he will be loyal to you, or the Rangers?"  
"It is not a matter of being loyal to his kind, or our kind. He is against the ways that his kind traditionally takes, and is a member of the Dragon Knight army in the Mirkilains." He smirked. "Might I add, he is an honorable member of the Dragon Knights. As to loyalty towards me and his own, he is my friend, was my brother's friend, and shared this friendship with another who, unfortunately, died the same night as my brother, and for the same reason. He fought against what he knew was wrong. If you do not take Archer as a candidate, I will use my replacement request and have him fill the space left by my brother. Archer wants to be a Ranger, wants to fight for the cause just as much as any of you seated here today, if not more so than some. There is nothing he would do to betray us, to bring us down, or to shame us in any way. Moreover, had his friend, Cyrius, been alive I would not hesitate to name him as a second candidate. Archer is like a brother to me. If it means anything, I trust him with my life."  
Hunter bowed, showing he had finished. He walked calmly back to his seat, keeping the same manner and purpose as he had tried to keep while going up. Then he sat and listened as forty others presented their candidates.  
When the candidates had been listed, the votes were taken. Each officer chose ten names of candidates and wrote them on a paper. The votes were collected and counted by the judges. The results would be announced in one hour, giving the officers time to mingle and rest.  
Hunter made his way through the crowds, listening carefully and trying to hear if any votes for Archer had been cast. He spent his hour doing this, searching through the slowly dwindling crowd.  
When the count was completed, a bell summoned the officers back to the hall. They took the seats they had before and waited for the results to be announced. Hunter watched as one of the judges, it so happened to be Witaker, took a sheet of paper and started making his way to the front of the hall.  
"The ten candidates that have been chosen are as follows." He cleared his throat. "Michael Tannden. Adam Just. William Rhymer. Alyse Callystrin. Katie Heartfield. Justin Tyler. Alec Gillden. Henery Gilldomere. Daniel Guilar." He stopped and looked at the last name on the list. His eyes shot up at the other judges. One of them gave a nod and grinned as he waved a hand, prompting the announcer to continue. "And Archer Centrelli. That is all."  
The judge crumbled the paper and charged down the aisle towards the other judges. As Hunter made his way out of the hall he could not but help noticing that Witaker was arguing with the judge who had apparently made the last decision. When Hunter passed by the two, the judge nodded his head and mouthed 'good luck' before returning to the argument with Witaker.  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER IL  
  
Hunter pushed the door open and stepped into the tavern. Archer was back on his feet already, and was slowly moving about the tavern delivering drinks to a few customers that had wandered in. Saren was behind the bar idly balancing a mug on one end. She looked up upon hearing the door open and grinned at Hunter.  
"How did the meeting go?" She came out from behind the bar to meet him.  
"Well, quite good, actually." He motioned back at Archer. "Did you make him do that?"  
"No, the oddest thing. He volunteered. He claims it is some new concept where you do something without being asked." She laughed. "I'm joking, but he really did volunteer. If you want my opinion, he should be back to normal just outside of a week."  
"Well, I still wish we knew more about that than we do. If you will excuse me for a moment." He made his way across the room and came up alongside Archer. "Welcome back to the world of the living, friend."  
Archer grinned. "I never left it. So, how did the meeting go?"  
"Well, there were about one hundred and twenty candidates, and you know that they only pick ten, right?"  
Archer rolled his eyes. "Who won?"  
"Call me an idiot, but I only remember one name. It caused quite an argument among the judges." He gripped Archer's shoulder. "Welcome aboard. You are my new apprentice."  
Archer acted slightly disappointed. "You mean I have to learn from you? Please, anyone but you." Archer laughed and gave Hunter a quick hug. "Ha! Thank you so much, you cannot believe how much I wanted the spot. So, really, who else was picked?"  
"Oh, you most likely would have never heard of them."  
Archer shrugged. "Who cares? I still like knowing."  
Hunter shook his head. "Well, an old friend of mine, goes by the name Rhymer, he got picked. He is working under an old knight, I forget his name." He thought a moment. "Oh yes, and then there was Henry Gilldomere. He is working under Saren. She just does not know that yet."  
"Gilldomere?" Archer inquired. Hunter nodded. "I knew a Lady by that name. She died in battle during a siege. Cyrius was there. She was a good friend. I wonder, do you know if there might be any relation between the two?"  
"It is a big world out there." Hunter shrugged apologetically before continuing. "The other names escape me for the moment, but you will meet them all soon. But...oh I should be able to remember some of them." He rapped a knuckle on a nearby table. "There was one lady, her name began with...." He stopped, trying to remember.  
"Do you at least know her last name?"  
"Yes, Cally...." He shook his head. "Collenstin. I believe."  
Saren overheard. "It would not happen to be Emma Collenstein would it?" She asked.  
"No, it was not Emma, and it was not one of those 'ein' names, it ended with 'in.' I am positive of that."  
Archer furrowed his brow. Hunter's first response to the last name caused him to lose himself in thought. He mumbled something to himself. Hunter apparently overheard.  
"Excuse me?"  
Archer repeated what he had thought. "Callystrin? Was the name Callystrin?"  
Hunter repeated the name silently to himself a few times before nodding. "That seems right, more so than Collenstin. Do you know her?"  
"What was her first name? Please, Hunter, you have to remember."  
Hunter closed his eyes and tried to run through the final minutes of the meeting.  
"Alyse." He finally said. "Alyse Callystrin. Now I ask again, do you know her?"  
Archer grinned as he shot a glance up at Saren. "Not yet."  
"How do you know her, then?"  
Archer shook his head. "Long story. Hey, why not tell Saren the good news?"  
Saren looked at Hunter quizzically. "What good news?"  
"They assigned you an apprentice."  
Saren shook her head. "I though I told you to tell them I was through with the apprentices." She turned away and went back behind the bar. "I won't take him."  
"Saren, just hear the name and think about what I was telling you today." He grinned at Hunter. "Go ahead, tell her."  
"His name is Henry Gilldomere."  
Saren switched her gaze from Hunter to Archer. "Any relation to your friend?"  
Archer shrugged. "I don't know yet, but I plan on finding out."  
Saren nodded. "Fine, I'll take him. But you have to do one thing for me, Hunter."  
Hunter braced himself. "What?"  
"For the next two weeks, you help Archer and I mind the tavern. Now hurry up, a table on your half just became occupied."  
Hunter groaned and looked over his shoulder at Archer as he made his way to the table. "How did you put up with an entire day of this?"  
"Easily. I just forgot about the work, and enjoyed the conversation. You would not believe the questions some people have for a Draconian."   
He grinned and turned to clear some empty glasses off a table. Hunter hung about, trying to avoid waiting on the table, until an icy stare from Saren caught his gaze. He submitted and slowly made his way over to the table.  
  
CHAPTER L  
  
Rain flooded Fetare yet again. This time, however, things were worse. A large storm had brewed of the southern coast and was slowly creeping inland. Strong winds that came with the storm were uprooting trees and leveling towns. Boats that had been tied up in harbor were sunk, capsized, or destroyed. Night conquered day and darkness settled on the island. Once more, using the foul weather and starless night for cover, Pyre looked towards the only thing that would please him. The death of the traitor.  
He walked without a light, letting his blood red eyes become accustomed to the dark. He was as silent as the forest around him, and the only thing that gave away his presence, besides his glowing eyes, was the occasional flash of light from a lightning bolt. This slight inconvenience was shrugged aside, however. He would not let anything disturb his plans.  
He had been waiting for a starless night to strike, a window of opportunity to begin his carefully thought out revenge. Over the past weeks, his small army had been hunted down and destroyed. Some fled the island, some died, but some remained. He still had a few loyal to him, but the enemy's sting was being felt. He came to a stop.  
Up ahead, lights were shining through the trees. He grinned and drew his blade, not the one given to him by Cyrius, but Cyrius' own blade, taken after his death. He continued on his walk. The lights drew nearer, and now he could see that the tavern was not completely empty. Shadows that had living owners crossed by.  
A soft hiss escaped him, but he continued on, undaunted. In fact, he welcomed some challenge. He was now out of the forest. Ahead of him, far of in the distance, a lightning bolt played across a lake. He admired the blue streak for a moment, before it died. To him it seemed a shame that something so destructive could only live for so short a while. Nevertheless, the time for sympathy was over. It was time to kill.  
He slowly stepped up to the tavern door and reached out for it. He played his claws over a small wooden design whose meaning meant nothing to him; just wanting to tear the door down and rush in, possessed by a mad rage. However, that would be foolish. He brought his hand back to his side and silently rested the side of his head against the door.  
  
Archer finished clearing the table and brought the empty glasses back to the bar. It had been a slow night, but that could be expected because of the storm. Now, the only remaining customers, were both drunk and having shouting matches. Archer just hoped they would leave.  
Once he reached the bar, he set the glasses down and gave Saren a tired look.  
"How long until they leave?"  
Saren shrugged and began cleaning the glasses. "Do they want anything else?"  
Archer shook his head. "I am willing to bet that even if they did, they would not be able to order."  
Saren laughed. "Well, in that case I'll just tell Jim to close the cellar, no need to keep it open if it's not going to be used."  
She stopped work on the glasses and disappeared into the back room. Archer rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes. It had been a long day. Hunter and himself had been asked to follow up a distress call in some town. When they had arrived, they found an enraged Bozak tearing up some shops. It was easily taken care of, though, but the fight had left Archer short of breath. Nothing else Ranger related happened that day. There was a small bar fight in the tavern that had to be put down, and that was a challenge. It took the better part of an hour to get them outside. Now there was only these two.  
He heard the door open and a cold breeze filled the room. He turned, hoping to find the two drunks gone. The door was wide open, and they were passed out at their table. Archer became uneasy, but told himself that the wind was responsible for pushing the door open. He slowly walked over to the open door, looked outside for anyone who might have been there, and closed the door and, after a second thought, latched it.  
He relaxed slightly and turned towards the bar. How long does it take Saren to lock the cellar? He made his way across the room, suddenly becoming completely aware of everything around him. Every creak and groan the tavern issued seemed too loud to be natural. Footsteps and noises came from nowhere and had no owner other than his own mind. His senses were on full alert.  
He stepped behind the bar and went through the doorway into the back room. From here, he had a choice. Either he could take the hallway in front of him that led to the guestrooms, or he could take the stairs up to Saren's room and the attic, or he could take another staircase down into the storage cellar. He stepped towards the cellar, but halted at the top of the staircase.  
"Hunter! Are you down there?" The call went without an answer.  
Archer turned away from the cellar and looked down the hall. He was still undecided on where to go. Every choice seemed like it led to a different doom.  
"Archer,"  
He jumped. It was Saren.  
"Sorry." She laughed. "There was a terrible leak in the cellar, Hunter is working on patching it up." She eyed him curiously. "Did they leave yet?"  
He shook his head. "They passed out."  
Saren rolled her eyes and turned to re-enter the tavern. She got as far as the door and stopped abruptly with a scream. Archer ran to her side and saw it immediately. Both of the drunks were dead, their throats slit. Archer instinctively reached to his side, but remembered he had left his swords in his room. He ran back down the hall and fetched them. He drew the blades, leaving the sheaths behind, and ran back to the tavern entrance. Saren was still there.  
"Saren, go get Hunter. I'll check the tavern."  
She nodded and disappeared down the cellar stairs. Archer took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.  
  
With his swords in the lead, he crept to the table where the two were sitting, dead, and searched for any sign that would lead to who ever had done it. There was none. The sound of glass crashing to the ground caused him to turn towards the bar. There was writing across the back wall in Drakoník, the letters written in the blood of the two who had been killed. The dialect was familiar, but slightly different from that which Archer was familiar with, and it took him a while to translate it. When the message had been processed, he said it quietly to himself.  
Just at that moment, Hunter entered the room. He grimly eyed the table before turning to the message.  
"What does it say?"  
Archer shot him a side-glance before answering. "Vengeance is mine."  
"If I knew him half as well as I do, he is still here."  
Archer looked back at his friend and furrowed his brow. "Your sword, where is it?"  
"I left it in the room."  
Archer handed him one of his own.  
  
Pyre kept a low profile in the rafters over their heads and forced himself not to laugh. They were making it too easy. He almost hated having to be silent. He waited until their backs were turned before he checked the rope he had attached to a rafter and, satisfied it would hold his weight, swung down and landed on the floor behind Hunter without a sound. Now came the fast part. He unsheathed his sword, cut the rope down, and wrapped the rope around Hunter's throat.  
Archer heard his friend drop the sword and turned. The sight before him made his blood run cold. Pyre laughed and threw the struggling Ranger into the bar head first, knocking him out cold.  
Ready to die? It is just you and me. Pyre raised his blade.  
Archer readied to defend himself and locked eyes with Pyre. There was a lack of sanity that seemed to be reflected in them and it made Archer nervous. He tried to control himself.  
Finally, after all this time, a fair fight. Pyre laughed. Well, only fair if I failed to wound you last time. He charged.  
Archer deflected the attack and turned as Pyre tried to attack from behind. Again, the blow was knocked aside. To Archer, it seemed that with each attack, insanity took a stronger hold on Pyre. The attacks became bolder, more reckless, but strong none the less. Then things went downhill.  
A lucky elbow to his chest started Archer in a light coughing fit that distracted him long enough for Pyre to slam the bottom of his swords grip right where Archer's wound had finished healing. The blow was stronger than it should have been. Archer fell to the ground and coughed again; this time he tasted blood. Pyre laughed darkly as he picked his opponent up by the neck and pressed his blade to Archer's throat.  
Oh, do not be so surprised. You see, you can no longer breath like normal living things. You have a damaged lung. Pyre threw Archer against a wall and slammed a fist into his chest. The Sivak doubled over in pain. Do not think I let you live in the warehouse without crippling you first.  
Archer focused on controlling his cough. Do Not think.... He stopped to catch his breath.  
Pyre leaned down next to Archer. Don't think what?  
Archer locked eyes with Pyre and smiled, a small trickle of blood falling from the corner of his mouth. Do Not think Cyrius' death will go unpunished.  
Pyre feigned a look of horror. Who is going to avenge the death of the Nightstalker?  
Me.  
Archer summoned up what remaining strength he had and rammed his fist into Pyre's stomach. The Draconian doubled over and Archer grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him up. Archer's strength ebbed away, yet he stared into Pyre's eyes with a grim determination, his mind set on one goal.  
Go ahead. Kill me.  
The time will come. You will die from your deeds, but not by my hands.  
Pyre pulled away from Archer and retrieved his sword. You disappoint me. Before you, at your mercy, was one who killed your friend. Pyre sheathed the sword. He killed another friend's brother. He killed two who took you in and cared for you. He even used you to kill your own. He sent you to kill the Callystrins. You succeeded, but not entirely. I had to do a little cleaning up. Now there are only two. Pyre laughed and started walking towards the door. Would you like others whom you care for to die because you set me free? He turned to face Archer again. Or will you change your mind and stop me right now. Just make one attack and end it. Your choice. Ignorance, or revenge. Pyre folded his wings around him like a cloak and opened the door. You will soon know the consequences of your decision.  
The door slammed shut and Archer collapsed, out of energy and breath. His chest ached and his mind was confused. What did I do? I let him live! He reached up and dug his claws into the wall to help pull himself up. Why? He collapsed into a nearby chair and waited for order to restore itself.  
He heard a groan and looked to Hunter who was just coming to.  
"I am going to have this headache for a long time." Hunter glanced at Archer. "What happened?"  
"He left."  
Hunter looked around the tavern. "Where is Saren?"  
The question struck Archer for the first time and he shrugged. "Do me a favor, find her. I can't...I mean, I need to catch my breath."  
Hunter gave a nod and disappeared into the back room. When he returned, fifteen minutes later, his face was grim and solemn. In his hand was a note. He handed it to Archer.  
  
Archer, I told you that you would regret doing what you did. Now another is dead without justice. It almost pains me to think that you, of all people, would have done such a thing. But you know what? I hate being right.   
Your dearest enemy,  
Pyre Darkblade.  
  
Archer crumbled up the note and looked up at the message that had been left over the bar. He read the words over and over, letting them imprint themselves in his mind. He slowly took the message in as his own, silently making it his battle cry.  



	5. Part Five and Epilogue

"No one can possibly know what will come tomorrow. If they did, we could prevent wars."  
-Cyrius Centrelli  
  
PART FIVE  
CHAPTER LI  
  
It had been almost a year since Saren's death. Pyre had failed to resurface, and Archer's apprenticeship with Hunter was over, he was now a Ranger. Hunter had told him when the apprenticeship had started that there was little he could do to improve Archer's fighting skills, as he felt Archer needed little in the way of improvement. He instead chose to just teach him the Ranger ideals, a few small but helpful defenses, and took him out on every call or assignment he was given. Archer countered the idea with a single thought, telling Hunter that no one, no matter how intelligent they seem, is finished learning within their lifetime. Hunter just shrugged.  
However, not all things had gone as Archer wished. He had hoped that he would be able to meet Alyse sometime, seeing how both were Rangers. Unfortunately, a small conflict arose in the south, and the force Alyse was in had been sent out to resolve it. So far, they had failed to return and the council was hung on whether to send another force down and thin the numbers up north, or leave things as they were and begin recruiting out of season. Not to the surprise of some, Archer and Hunter volunteered to go. Their request was denied.  
Archer then began a small, undercover, intelligence group and sent a few friends down south to see what was happening. A few returned and told of a large mass of ice that had crashed into the shore. The ice was melting rather slowly, and there were feuds as to who claimed it first. The Rangers reportedly had taken the iceberg by force and was fighting to restore order. Archer reported the news to the council.  
The council had, since the last time Archer had met them, elected a new head judge. Several other judges had either retired or had been voted out. As it happened, the new judge was the one that had voted Archer into the Rangers. Several others also supported Archer in some way or form and saw the reason and drive behind the cause he stood for. Archer's support began to grow.  
With the new information, the council decided to hold another vote. This time it was unanimous, a small force was to be sent down to aid in the peace keeping efforts; Archer volunteered immediately. However, the council voted against him, nine to one, and told him to remain in the northern part of the island. Archer was slightly agitated, but gave in to the command. As a reward for his efforts, he was offered the opportunity to start an intelligence group in the Rangers, as they had no organized group to handle the task. He agreed to the offer, but only if they would allow him to remain active in duty. The council agreed to his term.  
Archer began to become more popular among the Rangers. He started up not only an intelligence group, but also a covert operations group with, of course, the council's permission. His skills and experience also helped him gain higher ranks in the battle group he was assigned to. To the surprise of many, Archer became one of the highest overall ranking people to ever become a member in the Rangers, having attained the rank of Captain in the battle group, Legion Admiral in the intelligence group, and Legion Admiral in he covert operations group. He also became known for never letting anyone down on the battlefield.   
After declaring he was through teaching Archer, Hunter was transferred to a small fighting force that was to be sent out to put down a rebellion in the east. Hunter was one of five to return, and the only one to return unharmed. Reported acts of valor and bravery earned him a new Silver Star.  
Another incident involving hostages came up while Hunter was off duty. He was able to talk the hostage taker down and disarmed him. No body was hurt, save for Hunter who, in a small struggle to take the hostage taker's crossbow, was shot. The arrow, however, only scratched him. This got him yet another award.  
In a speech, he reported that there was a new rise of violence. Everywhere rebellions sprung from nowhere, people who were once friends were enemies. Nothing was as it used to be. A group of assassins had started to dedicate their lives to the downfall of the Rangers.  
The assassin group, which was called the self-proposed name Darkblade, was widely known among the Rangers. Archer had, on one occasion, ran into one of the members and had almost been killed. The assassin died before any questions could be asked.  
Fetare, once a refuge from the wars in the Mirkilains, was succumbing to the slow death of a treasured peace. Instead of working to restore the peace, people began to take it out on the Rangers. New movements arose to disband the peacekeeping organization. People fought with people. Inside of a year, the year that saw Archer become a Ranger, the peace disappeared.  
  
CHAPTER LII  
  
Pyre looked out over his main battle group. They had fought fiercely and had outnumbered the Rangers greatly. However, the Rangers were so skilled in how they worked that they proved to be the better of his own forces. Now the two were near equal; and that was soon to change. Through a chain of messengers, he had sent a request to the remnants of the NeitKorps in the Mirkilains, telling them that a new front had been opened, and glory awaited them after their victory. He had notified them four days ago, and they had said that they would arrive within the week, if things went well in their passage. There was only one problem.  
The Ranger forces had learned of the situation in the south and reinforcements were rumored to be coming. One group had already been sent, surprised, and destroyed, but the Darkblade force had been stronger then. In the condition they were in, they had to either receive reinforcements now, or be beaten back by the Rangers, possibly to the point of utter defeat.  
The situation now, as it stood, was the Ranger force occupying the iceberg and everywhere within a one-hundred yard radius of it, the force itself standing with twenty warriors; and the Darkblade force constantly trying to uproot the Rangers with no success. When they had started, the numbers were in favor of the Darkblade, two to one. Now they were one and one.  
He heard a long note sound from a horn. Another soon followed this, only the second was two short blasts. Reinforcements had arrived, but for the wrong side. He hissed and made his way to the watchtower, where another Draconian, a Baaz and a remnant of the original Fetare forces, stood watch.  
How many?  
The guard shook his head. No more than twenty, but Hunter and Archer are with them. They will reach their destination within the hour.  
Pyre closed his eyes to think. How long did it take to deliver a message, and how long to reach a tiny island the likes of this? He made up his mind.  
We attack in a quarter of an hour. Sound the call.  
The Baaz gave his commander a puzzled look, but sounded the call to form ranks. In three minutes, all twenty warriors had formed into small groups of five. Each consisted of both Draconians and knights that had found their way here from the wars in the Mirkilains, but still wanted a fight. To Pyre, it was a small force, armed with a few lances, some longbows, and old swords that were too dull to carve anything cleanly. He turned and looked the force over, the sight made him chuckle. They would have to do, just for a short while.  
He drew his own sword, one he had confiscated from the Nightstalker upon his death, and gazed at it with admiration before raising it over his head. He shouted a war cry and led his troops towards the ranger force.  
  
Alyse heard the attackers before she saw them. A small hail of arrows flew through the air, seeking targets, and finding a few. There were screams as three fell to the ground with the shafts giving away the cause of death. She drew her own blade and shouted to the others. Despite the lack of reinforcements, there was still a spark of hope in the Ranger task force. However, this was fueled only by their successes at keeping the Darkblade force at bay.  
"Milady, what is our plan this time?"  
She turned and eyed a young officer. "Draw your sword and try to live, we will not lose."  
He smiled sadly. "I wish I had your confidence."  
"Trust me. I happen to know something you do not." She gave a wry smile and shouted at the rallying troops.  
Another barrage of black arrows came from above, but the Rangers were ready. Shields were raised and everyone went unscathed. When they had formed up, lance bearers in the front, swordsmen in the middle, and archers in the rear, they waited. A few seconds and one more harmless arrow storm later, they saw their targets.  
  
Archer heard it before the others did and took off running at the sound. The group gave questioning stares towards Hunter, but he trusted his friend's judgement and was soon running after. He shouted a command over his shoulder and the rest of the group drew weapons and charged.  
Archer arrived first. He ducked one sword, thrust under another, and drew his second blade, swinging it about in a wide arc. Both of his attackers, both knights, fell to the ground. He took one look and confirmed they were with the Darkblade terrorist group. A scream cut through the air and Archer followed it to its source. The sight made him cringe. A Baaz had ambushed a Ranger and had driven a clawed hand through the knight's back. Death was certain. Archer charged.  
Hunter arrived just as the Darkblade's reinforcements arrived. The newcomer Draconians had found a way up the iceberg and attacked from above and behind. The Rangers were not ready for this attack and were taken by surprise. Hunter waited for the rest of his group to arrive before they charged.  
The spearhead tactic worked for a short while. The Darkblade forces were momentarily stunned, and four or five fell before they regained their senses. Then they fought on even stronger than before. The Rangers were outnumbered, and seemingly outmatched, but they held their ground. Hunter made a vow to take as many as he could before succumbing to their blades.  
He picked a target, a tall Kapak who was cutting his way through a small group. Hunter raised his sword and charged, but was cut off by another, whom he could not identify as he brought his blade crashing down on his adversary's skull. The stunned Draconian fell to the ground and gazed blankly up at Hunter. A chill fell over the Ranger as he recognized who it was.  
Pyre stood and raised his blade; a menacing scowl spread across his face, and he hissed as he readied to attack. Hunter glanced over at the Kapak, relieved to see that the beast had finally fallen to an unseen attack. He turned back to Pyre.  
"You should not have come down here. Your fate is sealed; your death will be here." Pyre's words were accented as a Bozak died somewhere behind the two.  
"Pyre, my death will be from something other than your blade."  
"Knight, you will die like your brother. He was a coward too, his death was-"  
Hunter attacked. Pyre blocked and immediately turned to an offensive. He delivered systematic blows, never leaving himself open to attack, and slowly pushing the knight to the ice wall. It was all Hunter could do to keep his sword from being knocked from his hand by the forceful blows. What happened next stunned both of the warriors.  
Although he tried not to, Hunter blinked. As his eyes closed, they caught a bright flash, seemingly caused by metal glinting in the sun. When he reopened his eyes, flames had erupted all throughout the battlefield, scattering the Darkblade forces. Pyre had shrieked and suddenly abandoned his fight with Hunter, seeking shelter from the great Snowdragon that had suddenly appeared.  
However, just as quickly as the tides had turned to favor the Rangers, they turned again. The dragon, obviously exhausted by the effort, near collapsed. Pyre looked at the silver beast, and then turned to look over his shoulder, an evil grin on his face, at Hunter. Pyre turned and charged.  
Hunter was slow to react, and it cost him. Pyre's blade caught him in the side as he turned out of the way. The blade continued its course and drove into the ice wall, not stopping until it had reached the hilt. Hunter clutched his side and brought his sword up in defense as Pyre extracted his from the ice and attacked again. A wave of exhaustion came over Hunter, and though he tried to defend himself, knew he had lost.  
He found himself back up against the iceberg. The sounds of the battle faded away and everything seemed to move in slow motion as Pyre brought the gleaming sword around. Hunter brought his blade up to block, and watched as the silver blade cleaved it in two. Pyre brought the blade back up and drove it through Hunter's gut, just under the ribcage. The blade continued through into the ice, and stuck.  
Pyre made several attempts to extract the blade, but it had lodged itself firmly into the ice wall. He soon gave up and grinned maliciously at Hunter.  
"Knight, you should have listened to me. I told you that you would die."  
Something struck Pyre from behind and threw him against the ice wall, next to Hunter. A stinging sensation emanated from his back. He painfully turned to face his attacker and felt a low, throaty hiss rise. The hiss was cut off suddenly as Archer rammed his fist into Pyre's throat. Pyre gagged and fell to the ground, struggling for breath.  
Archer knelt and pulled the other Sivak to his feet. Behind him, the Snowdragon had regained enough energy to unleash a second firestorm at a group near the iceberg itself. Archer ignored the battle behind him and pressed the tip of his sword against Pyre's throat.  
Pyre had finally regained his breath and grinned. "Finish it, Archer. Finish this now."  
A loud crack caused them both to look up. The firestorm had weakened the iceberg's surface, and a large section was threatening to fall, right where Archer and Pyre were standing. Without hesitation, Archer threw Pyre aside. He put an arm around Hunter, who was still barely managing to stay conscious, and pulled the sword free of the ice. The wall started to break free and fall. Archer pulled his friend a safe distance away just as the ice wall fell, burying Pyre.  
Archer breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention to his friend. Hunter took a hold of Archer's hand.  
"Tell the council," he struggled, not having the energy to complete the entire phrase in one breath. "I am requesting that you take my place in command of the Rangers." Hunter stopped and regained his breath. "Farewell, friend."  
Archer started to say something, but it was too late. Hunter died in his arms.  
  
Alyse's energy was completely drained; the last firewall had taken what little she had left. Fortunately, there were only scattered remnants of the Darkblade force fighting. Some had retreated; others stayed to fight to the death. She heard a loud crack, but paid no mind to it. It was not until the ice wall crashed to the ground that she bothered to look up from her rest. She turned her gaze to the fallen ice. A Sivak crouched over a fallen Ranger caught her eye.  
She stood, thinking at first that the Draconian was the one responsible for the Ranger's death, and was readying an attack. The only thing that held her at bay was a faint sense of recognition that slowly crept into her thoughts. Her mind took her back to an attack in a tavern, when she had gone for help the Ranger, who now lay dead before her, was accompanied by a Sivak.  
She hesitated and glanced around; she was the only one who seemed to notice. She looked back at the Draconian and watched as he produced a silver blade that was blood covered and had lain next to the Ranger. The Draconian whispered something, just soft enough to be unintelligible to her ears, and left the Ranger.  
  
Archer knew he was being watched, judged, and he did not care. He found a target and made his way to a Kapak who was shouting orders at some unseen troops. The Kapak never finished a command and tumbled to the ground, stunned, as Archer withdrew his blade from the Draconian's back. He carried out four more executions, and would have carried out more, but the Darkblade forces had been beaten and no more remained.  
CHAPTER LII  
  
The aftermath of the battle was more shocking than the battle itself. The Rangers had suffered a great loss; twenty-five of the knights had died. Most of the deaths were due to the surprise attack from the rear by the Darkblade reinforcements. Darkblade, on the other hand, lost significantly more. There had been twenty-one when the battle began, near fifty after reinforcements arrived, and now only an estimated eight had escaped from the battle.  
Alyse's secret had stunned every one, with the exception of Archer who had known, but never thought to tell of her really being a Snowdragon. She had left the battlefield and found a place to rest, away from the rest of the group. Archer was slightly annoyed, he had hoped to speak with her, but it would have to wait.  
They had done some searching among the shattered remains of the collapsed ice wall, and Archer was horrified and maddened to find that only his two blades remained, Pyre was nowhere to be found. He had thought about organizing a search group, but quickly decided against it, as he felt that the Rangers had been through enough and needed rest.  
Hunter's request had been honored, and the senior officer present had vowed that he would back up Archer, and Hunter's request, upon their return to the Northern Keep. After the devastating scene of that day, things had suddenly calmed down. However, with this came the task of burying the dead. Graves were dug, and memorials placed for those who had died in the battle. One of the knights had taken it upon himself to record everything that had happened, to the best of his abilities, and included a list of the names of those who gave their lives for the cause.  
Archer trekked on his own some distance away from the camp and found a quiet place of his own to just stop and think the day's events. The harsh realization of what had happened was difficult to cope with; Hunter had been a good friend. His death brought old memories of Cyrius, and Viper; the latter of the two he now wished he had known better. Too many memories, too much destruction and death. What he faced now he was certain was the very thing Cyrius had sought to leave behind when he came to the island. He thought of Flare and Flame, they were dead too. This brought him back to the night he led the raid that took the lives of Stryker and Celeste.  
Do not lose sight of your goal, though obstacles clutter your view. The thought brought some comfort, but not enough.  
"Archer,"  
He whirled around and found Alyse sitting in the low branches of a tree.  
"I am sorry, I never heard you coming." Archer settled back down to where he was sitting on the ground.  
"You never would have, I was here first. We have similar taste in quiet places." She slid from the tree and landed noiselessly on the ground. "Archer, I have heard rumors, none of which I believe to be true, of why you are here." She paused. "Why are you?"  
"The answer is difficult and lengthy, if you have the time." He waited, she said nothing. "My name is, according to my kind, Scythe. I was the commander of a defensive force in the Mirkilains. Our ruler decided that the only way to win the war was to strike hard and strong, a coordinated joint effort. He chose my group to attack a Snowdragon den.  
"The den we were assigned to was home to two dragons, a mated couple, and the attack was a success," he paused. "Unfortunately. Before she died, however, the female silver changed my life. She spoke to me as if she knew me, and I knew I had never met her before in my life. She gave me something that I have been meaning to show to you and ask you about."  
He reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew a clenched fist. Alyse hesitated slightly, but took whatever it was when he offered it to her. When she opened her hands and saw what it was a gasp escaped her lips.  
"You recognize that piece then?" He took a deep breath. "I was the one who killed Celeste, and Stryker. I am sorry. However, now I must ask one thing, if you will hear me out after learning what I have done." She gave a slow nod and he continued. "There is no easy way to say this that will make it any less awkward, but I will try. Celeste, your mother, knew me, when I met with your sister she also admitted I knew things that no one outside of the family knows. Songs that Celeste would sing at the side of the nest, I was able to recite them. I also found the journals she wrote, stowed in a picture over the mantel. As much as it pains me to say, I have begun to believe that I not only killed your parents," he stopped and looked up at her, "but mine as well."  
Silence hung for what seemed like hours. Archer, now wholly at the mercy of whatever came next, looked away from her and stood. He walked to a nearby tree and leaned up against it, his back to her.  
"I know it seems hard to think of, but I had to bring it to your attention. That is why I am here."  
Silence enshrouded them again and hung about for seemingly an eternity this time. Alyse looked from the Snowdragon brooch and up at Archer. Too many mixed emotions were running through her mind to fully comprehend what was happening. Although it seemed logical, it was too unlikely that this could be the one that had been stolen, the one that her mother had mourned the loss of so much. Perhaps her mother was mistaken. In all of her grief and pain, the mistake would have been easy. Indeed, Alyse could have easily said no right there, ending the Draconian's search.  
She moved around so she could see his face and looked into his eyes. There was nothing in them that told her he was not telling the truth. Everything she saw in them told her he was speaking what he believed true. The one thing that kept her from telling him he was wrong, however, was that when she looked into his eyes she saw her mother. She was not even sure herself if Archer's beliefs were wrong.  
"This is sudden, unexpected." She broke the silence. "I will need more time."  
She started to hand back the brooch, but he stopped her.  
"Keep it, she told me it belonged to you."   
Archer smiled sadly and disappeared into the forest, leaving Alyse alone again. She looked down at the brooch, and then back at the spot that Archer had just left. She looked back down at the brooch, the Snowdragon's sapphire blue eyes seemed to be watching, waiting for something. She closed her eyes and was flooded by memories of home.  
  
The journey back was slow, silent, and the entire way a gloom seemed to hang about the group. Archer took up the lead, by choice of most of the knights, and Alyse, by her own choice, took up the rear. Archer could only note that her face wore a tired expression, and she was visibly upset by the past day's events. Archer could not help feeling mostly responsible for her emotional state.  
It took the group four days to reach their goal; by the time they did the mood had lightened to some extent. Archer and Alyse were both called upon by the council to give full reports of what had happened. They were somewhat impressed by Alyse's hidden identity, and worried when Archer told them that they had not found any sign of Pyre after the fight. The loss of Hunter shocked everyone who heard of it. Archer found out that he had been a loyal member of the Rangers for nearly five years and held a high commanding rank. Upon hearing about Hunter's final request, the council hesitated, but unanimously decided to honor it. Archer suddenly found himself fourth in command of the Rangers.  
A ceremony was held commemorating those lost in the battle, and a stonecutter was commissioned to start work on a monument that would stand in their honor.  
Archer never saw Alyse, save on brief occasions, and she avoided speaking to him. Once, he had run into her and tried to start a conversation; she kept it short and brought it to an abrupt end by suddenly eyeing someone she needed to talk to. Archer watched her leave the area without stopping to talk to anyone.  
A few days later the sudden realization that he was alone struck Archer. He had lost everyone he had called a friend, none of them were alive. He journeyed to the Quiet Tavern every once in a while, just to keep the dust from settling in and taking over. He never bothered keeping it open for business, though.  
On one such trip, he opened the doors and thought he heard voices in the cellar. When he checked, however, he found that the tavern was just how he had left it. Empty.  
  
CHAPTER LIV  
  
Archer steadied himself as a strong gust of wind near pushed him off the cliff. From this place, he could see all of the southeastern part of Fetare. Below him stood a vast forest blanketed in mist, to the far East was the harbor town where he had first set foot on the island, and in the South was the large iceberg that had struck the shore. Overhead a storm was brewing. On the horizon he could make out dark storm clouds slowly moving towards the island, already overhead were smaller, light grey clouds that were misting the island in a light rain. Sounds of distant thunder could be heard steadily growing nearer.  
He thought back a few years to when he had first seen Fetare. They had all been alive then, Saren, Cyrius, Viper, and Hunter. Of course, Flame and Flare had died, but he still had friends then. Despite their costly victory over the Darkblade group, the terrorists were still letting their presence be known. The assassinations had increased, and were more focused. The council and random high ranking officers were no longer targets, now it was Archer's own team. What had once numbered thirty was slowly dwindled down to three, and they had left the group. Everyone Archer knew as a slight acquaintance was soon cut down by the assassins; no one who claimed to know the Draconian escaped at least a very close assassination attempt.  
One of the most painful killings for Archer was the night William Rhymer, one of Hunter's old friends, was struck by a small poisoned dart while talking to Archer himself. Archer watched helplessly as the knight died, and the unknown assassin escaped. Now fingers were starting to point at him, and the rest of the Rangers started to keep their distance.  
Archer still felt some relief that Alyse was still alive, and that no attempt on her life had been made. However, a small nagging voice inside of him told him that it was only a matter of time. Not a day passed that he feared her safety.  
  
The storm was now passing overhead. Lightning danced over the forest, setting several small blazes. The thunder grew nearer and louder, and the wind picked up again, threatening to throw Archer from the cliff. He stepped back just as the rain began to fall in sheets.  
There was a sudden loud blast, almost an explosion, as a tremendously loud thunderclap sounded. The force behind the thunder shook the cliff and almost knocked Archer down. He felt a sudden sensation of heat behind him and turned.  
A tree, not fifteen feet from him, had been struck by lightning and was ablaze. A shiver coursed through Archer. Standing under the tree, seemingly unaffected by the fact that it was burning, was a figure clad in a black cloak. Two blood red eyes glowed from under the hood of the cloak and pierced Archer's own. The figure emitted a low laugh and stepped from under the tree. There was a crack and a burning limb fell to the ground, splintering as it hit the spot where the figure had just been standing. The figure continued as if he had not noticed the near fatal accident.  
The figure stopped ten feet away from Archer and threw his hood back. Archer hissed and narrowed his eyes.  
"What is wrong, Archer?" Pyre took a step forward. "You seem upset."  
"You will die." Archer reached for his sword.  
"Go ahead, attack. I am unarmed." Pyre waited, but the attack never came. "You would have died anyway. Face it, you are in no state to fight. Your mind would not act quickly enough and even I, though unarmed, would win."  
Archer sighed, Pyre was right. Any attempt to fight would be fatal. "Why are you here?"  
"I wish to speak to you about what is happening. I take it that you have realized what our targets are, am I right?" Archer gave a slow nod. "I am here for two reasons: to make sure it is working, and to tell you a little secret." Pyre slowly made his way to where Archer was standing and glared at him. "Alyse is our next target."  
Archer lashed out, reaching for Pyre's throat. He was too slow, however, and Pyre ended up pinning him to the ground by forcing one of his arms behind his back.  
"Get one thing straight, Scythe, I want you to live to see and feel what it is like to have your life ruined." Pyre let Archer up. "I am telling you that Alyse is the next target, but I will not tell you when the attempt will be made. You are helpless to defend her at all times, and the strike will come when you least suspect it."  
Pyre turned and began walking back towards the burning tree. He turned suddenly to face Archer again.  
"I was assigned the task of eliminating all of the threats to our armies in the northern Mirkilains. I took it upon myself to destroy the Callystrins, and the Ghurals. The Ghurals are now dead. Do you remember them, Flame and Flare? Now I must make sure that the Callystrins die. You saved me the trouble of killing Stryker and Celeste, for that, I am thankful. One died a long time ago when her egg was crushed while I was stealing yours. Eleanor died while watching you leave. Alyse will be next, and you will live with the torment and pain of knowing you could do nothing. You killed my NeitKorps, I will kill your family."  
Pyre pulled the hood over his face, but kept his blood red eyes locked on Archer's amber eyes. Archer took a step towards him, but a flash of light halted his advance. The thunderclap was deafening, and when Archer looked up all that remained was a scorched area of grass.  
  
CHAPTER LV  
  
A cold wind blew from the south, taking the storm clouds that had plagued Fetare to another unknown destination. For once, things seemed to calm down. The Rangers had been placed on standby, in case some new conflict threatened to arise, and Archer spent most of his time reflecting on past events and things yet to come.  
He planned ahead for whenever he might chance to meet Alyse again, carefully finding words to show how he felt, and then discarding others he thought to be inappropriate for the occasion. The days went by and soon he ran out of ideas of how to make his prepared speech better, so he spent the days counting down how many more would pass until Alyse's group returned from a long-term scouting assignment.  
That day found Archer waiting impatiently by the main entrance to the keep. He had been scanning the horizon, but not eyeing anything, turned to speak to a young knight who had been posted to watch the gate. Archer soon found himself so drawn into the conversation that both he and the guard failed to notice that someone had entered the gates unchecked.  
"Archer, we meet again."  
Archer froze. He knew the voice, yet it seemed so much more frail and weak than when he had heard it last. He turned to face the figure of the past. She was pale, and it seemed to Archer that she was no more than a shell of her former self. Her blue eyes, which had once been strong and piercing, were now almost lifeless, and faded.  
"I thought you had…."  
"Died?" Flare finished the sentence. "A dagger bites deep and stings, but it does not kill unless the one wielding it makes certain it has."  
"Where have you been this past year?"  
"No where. Hiding at home waiting for a war to pass." She took a step towards Archer. "Archer, I shan't be here much longer; even you can see that so do not try to tell me otherwise. I wanted to tell you that it is over, the war is finished." A faint smile played across her face. "We won."  
"What about my kind?"  
"They have fled, vanished just like my kind has. Both have gone away and into hiding."  
Archer eyed her curiously. "Why should your kind leave if the war is over?"  
'We are heroes, Archer. There is no rest for a living hero. The war is over, but it cost much. Our kind was devastated; few remain in the Mirkilains. Those that do are in isolated areas. The others have gone to find a place to rest."  
"What about the dark dragons?"  
"They have gone too, and for the same reason."  
"So are you leaving to rest?"  
"For ever, Archer." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Archer, of everything you can possibly lose, do everything you can to not lose the ability to trust others. I lost that, and it has killed me. There is no one I know whom I am able to trust and run to. I let suspicion and fear rule my life ever since Flame's death, and I have never been able to heal the wound that caused.  
"I am slowly dying, not from wounds, but because I do not have anyone to help me and I have become weak. Archer, I came to warn you. Your search, it can either end happily and you will live on knowing you belong. You will have some resemblance of a family you can talk about. You will be able to share the Callystrin family stories with anyone you chose. Your life will hold so much promise and you will grow to become a strong individual.  
"But your search can also devastate you. That which you seek is a part of your heart, and to not find what you seek will destroy you. I know what it feels like to have a heart torn into pieces. Your hopes seem high, and that is good for now, but if you ask and the answer is no, those high hopes and good spirits will be your doom. Archer, never, for one moment, think I thought of you as only a friend. You and Cyrius were the two sons I never had. I heard of Cyrius' death, there are few that do not know him now in the Knighthood's ranks; I died a death equal to that from when Flame died.  
"Archer, take care of yourself. Remember these words: if you ever fall in love, and this is with anyone, you will be pained because that person will go away sometime in your life. I have no doubts you experienced this when Cyrius died, and I guarantee that will not be the last. Remember what I have said, Archer, always. Take it into your heart and when something tragic happens remember to not lose trust in others. If you do, no one can help you."  
She turned and began walking out the gates. She stopped at the Keeps limits and glanced back over her shoulder.  
"Good luck and farewell, Archer. This is the last time we will ever see each other, though I wish it were not. Goodbye. You are a dragon's son, Archer, no matter what your appearance may be. All of the loyalty, all of the kindness that one finds in the large Snowdragons, they can see shining in you tenfold."  
She turned and vanished over a small hill just as Alyse's scouting group appeared on the horizon.  
  
Archer waited until the group had entered the gates before he pulled Alyse aside.  
"We need to talk. Would you like to here, or somewhere else?"  
"How about sometime else?"  
Archer winced. "Please do not make this more awkward than it is for me. How about tonight at the Quiet Tavern?"  
Alyse glanced skyward. "It is going to rain."  
"Then let it rain. I just want an answer. You have had a while to think it over, and now I want to know what your opinion on the matter is; who I am."  
"Very well, I know the tavern. I will be there at nightfall."  
She walked away, leaving Archer alone again.  
  
CHAPTER LVI  
  
The storm hit only a few hours later. Rain fell in blinding sheets as blue lightning danced in all directions, bringing with it the resonating boom of thunder. On the coasts, the water rose and flooded everything unfortunate enough to get in its way. The Harbor town was slowly drowning in a foot of rapidly rising muddy water. The creeks and rivers were swollen and rising above their banks, even the Pearl Lake had risen and overflowed its boundaries. Archer began to worry Alyse would not show. To the eye, night had already fallen, but the sun was not due to set for another hour yet. That hour came and with it, Alyse.  
Archer offered her a drink, but she politely refused. He waited for her to find a seat before he spoke.  
"Alyse, you know what I have come to seek. You know my story; you know your past. I will ask this once: who am I?" He paused and took in a breath. "If you do not answer, I will assume you do not know, or you think I am not of your blood. If that is the case, this cloak and this brooch that I wear now are not mine and I will return them to you. You can then seek out your lost brother on your own."  
Archer let the silence fall and leaned up against the wall opposite the door, just next to the bar. For what was fifteen minutes, yet seemed like ages, passed, broken only by thunder and the sound of rain on the roof of the tavern. No answer came.  
Archer nodded to himself and made his way across the room. "I understand. Here, take this back then." He moved to unclasp the cloak but Alyse stopped him.  
"Keep it, it is cold outside."  
He shook his head and folded it up on the table she was sitting at, leaving the brooch to sit on top of it. Then he walked out through the door, leaving it open.  
Alyse watched him leave and suddenly broke out in tears. "Archer!" No answer came. She ran to the door, the figure was slowly fading away into the darkness. She ran out the door calling after him.  
The storm moved overhead and the thunder grew closer and louder. She ran on, determined to reach him.  
"Archer!"  
A flash of lightning lit up the sky and everything around her. She froze. She had been mistaken. She figure drew a dark blade and made his way towards her, his blood red eyes glowing in the black night.  
"You can run, but I will find you wherever you go." Pyre laughed.  
"The war is over, you lost."  
"Not yet, the war is not over yet. It may be over in the Mirkilains, but until I finish my goal, my war is not over."  
"Learn to leave when you are not wanted."  
Alyse heard steel slide from a sheath behind her and glanced back. It was Archer.  
"Archer, is that you? I get us mixed up every now and then." Pyre grinned and readied to attack.  
"Leave her alone, we both know you only want me."  
"How true." Pyre spat the words out. "If you live, so will she. If you die, there is nothing I can do to guarantee her safety."  
Pyre brought his blade up and charged. Archer pushed Alyse out of the way of the oncoming attack and brought his own blade up to defend. Alyse lost her balance and hit the ground. When she looked up, she could see nothing. She glanced around nervously, the sounds of the battle could still be heard in the storm, but she could see nothing. A sudden shriek filled the air and silence fell.  
She heard someone approach her. A flash of lightning lit the sky and she saw it was Archer, though something seemed wrong. He was limping and hunched over, clutching a wound that she could not see without sufficient light. She ran over to him.  
"Alyse, are you alright?"  
"I am fine. What about you, are you hurt badly?"  
"No."  
"Archer, I need to tell you something. I could not answer because I feared my own conclusion. My mother," she shook her head, "she could never have made a mistake about her own child. When I see you, Archer, I see a piece of her that I thought was lost."  
"So then, what is your conclusion."  
Alyse panicked, he seemed to be growing weaker from his wounds.  
"Archer," she paused. "Drysdin, I believe you are my brother."  
Archer started to say something, but a loud thunderclap drowned out his words. He suddenly stumbled forward and Alyse went to catch him. As her hands came around his back, she felt the cold steel shaft of an arrow. A chill coursed through her and she gently lowered him to the ground.  
A low cackle rose from behind her. "How sweet. Loving sister, faithful to the end."  
Alyse picked up Drysdin's silver blade and turned to face Pyre. The draconian drew his own blade as he cast the spent crossbow aside. A flash of lightning quickly revealed to Alyse he was wounded worse than Drysdin had been. She grinned.  
"Alyse, you are about to witness the final death in the Callystrin family line, yours."  
"Try me." She gritted her teeth, raised her blade, and readied to face Pyre.  
He attacked stronger than she had thought he could, and she almost paid for her underestimation of her opponent, but she quickly regained her composure and slowly worked towards gaining an offensive. Blow after blow, they fought on in the rain. Alyse finally saw her chance; she attacked high, bringing the blade down from over her head. Pyre blocked, leaving himself open to an attack.  
Alyse was never able to carry through, though. Even as she brought her blade down for what would have been a final blow, Pyre pulled a small, mini-crossbow out from under his cloak and fired. The steel bolt was aimed improperly, but still found a target. Alyse fell back and dropped the blade as the steel bolt buried itself in her arm.  
Pyre advanced quickly and lowered the tip of his blade towards Alyse's throat.  
"Time to die, like all others before you."  
Alyse glanced over to where she had left Drysdin, though she must have looked in the wrong direction because he was gone. She looked back up at the glowing blood red eyes. They faded abruptly, and Pyre uttered a gasp as a silver blade suddenly dug into his side. Alyse rolled out of the way as the draconian collapsed. The blade was pulled free and raised for another attack.  
"Leave…my family…alone." Archer buried the blade into Pyre's back. He dropped the blade and stepped back, but he was too weak and his legs buckled under him.  
"Drysdin!" Alyse stood and caught him as he began to fall, ignoring the pain that protested the action in her arm.  
"Alyse…" He gave her a weak smile. "I want to go home."  
"You can, nothing is going to stop you."  
She held him tight, noticing that he had pulled the arrow from his back on his own. He was probably bleeding to death. Her emotions flooded her and she cried. The sounds of her sobs were soon lost, however, in the falling rain.  
  
  
  
"Do not let anyone tell you what you are and are not capable of doing; only you can find out what you can do."  
-Drysdin "Archer" Callystrin  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
The forest trees had yet to fully recover from the war, but everywhere she looked, peace was seen at last. It had been over a week since she had found her brother, and now Alyse was looking forward to returning home. It had been more than ten years since she had seen the den where she grew up. The shock of that stormy night still hung about her, but the past was gone, now a new future was waiting.  
Alyse pushed a few branches aside and looked up ahead. The path lasted for another thirty yards; there it ended at the entrance of the Callystrin den. She grinned and sprinted up the path until she had arrived.  
The den had been well taken care of; nothing was unclean or left unattended to. She ran a hand along the wall as she ventured deeper into the depths of the home. She suddenly found herself in the art room. She went from one painting to the other studying each one under the light that was cast by a shining blue crystal; noticing there were new works, signed by Flare Ghural. She admired the new additions to the collection for a while before moving to the library.  
Once there, she searched until she found the journals Drysdin had told her about. She pulled one out and slowly thumbed through it, reading pieces of entries made before and after she had come into the world.  
"I was wondering when you would show up."  
She closed the journal and placed it back on the bookshelf. "There were still a few things I had to take care of."  
Drysdin walked over to her and gave her a quick hug. Alyse noted he was still limping, but said nothing about it.  
"How have you been, brother?"  
"Busy, I met with the council two days ago, they are sending a small army to aid the Rangers in eliminating Pyre's forces. The war is finally over."  
"Yes, it is."  
Neither one of them spoke for a while. Alyse suddenly broke the silence. "I want to go and join the other dragons up north, in the icelands. You are welcome to come, but I think there is more for you here than there is up there."  
Drysdin nodded. "Then what are you waiting for? Go, I will be fine here."  
Alyse grinned. "Thank you for everything."  
"Likewise. Please do not forget to write. I will try to visit."  
"So will I, brother." She turned and started to leave. "Drysdin, take care."  
"You too."  
She rushed over to him and gave him a quick hug. The two went to the entrance together and he saw her off, waving farewell until he could no longer see the sun shining off of the silver scales on the horizon.  
When she was gone, he limped back into the den and made his way to the main hall. He stopped at the mantel. Hanging over it was the picture where he had first found the journals. Under it was the two silver blades, arranged in an 'x' shape. He studied the objects for a moment before sitting down and continuing the writing he had started in his journal.  



End file.
